Flower, my daughter’s cat, has been commando-crawling through the house, his fur puffed straight out, his eyes nervous.  The thunder is too much for him and then the bedroom doors all slammed shut with one particular gust of wind and it sent him streaking down the stairs to hide in the basement.

Rabbit finished dinner in a hurry once it started to rain, and I let her run up and down the driveway, where she became soaked to the skin with the cold water.  We came back inside and she stripped down to her undies inside the door and wrapped up in a warm towel, then raced in to take her shower.

PC is finishing a pipe out in the garage and then the plan is to watch a movie with Rabbit.

I spent the afternoon splitting tigerlily plants; they’re so thick in front of my deck that they needed to be dug up, split in half and transplanted.  I managed to put in a row of about ten of them along the south fence (the new fence the neighbors put up last year) and a ring of them around the post of our mailbox.  Even with all of those dug up, it’s hard to see any difference in the flower bed.

PC borrowed a gas-powered edger from a friend and cleaned up the edges of our lawn, which makes a huge difference.  He’s going to use the edger tomorrow to cut a line into the yard along the margin of the back yard so I can put in landscape edging and mulch (eventually) to define the flower beds.  The neighbor saw him edging and they started to talk, and then PC loaned the edger to Adrian, and Adrian is going to cut down a small pine tree for us with his chain saw to return the favor.

It’s just one of those days where I realize how fortunate we are to live here, to have what we have:  nice weather, a clean and sturdy house, pretty flowers, food on the table, nice neighbors…and each other.

We bought our GE refrigerator in October of 2001 when we moved into our house.  New refrigerator!  Huzzah!  Gallon jugs of milk in the door, fancy, fancy.

And then, beginning in January of 2004, just two years after buying it new?  The thing stopped chilling in the refrigerator compartment.  I know when it was, because the fridge repairman was at our house while the entire family was stricken with the flu, and my sister had to come over and help me.  I was pressure-cooking a pork roast that had been in the fridge and had Rabbit strapped to my chest in a baby carrier, both of us feverish and woozy.  PC was in bed, and the fridge guy was working on the fridge when Rabbit leaned into me and vomited hot purple-pedialyte-stained goo straight down into my shirt.

But back to the fridge.   It has, on a regular basis, stopped working.  In about 2005, it started running loudly, almost like a groaning motorboat.  The blower motor was going out.  That was replaced at least three times.  The gasket/door seal was replaced twice.  The motherboard controlling the entire unit has been replaced three times.  The heater that melts that condensation/ice from the interior freezer coils has gone out at least twice.

Our home warranty company has sent repair techs out every time, to the tune of a minimum of $200 in expense to them.

Last week, it stopped working again.  I called and the technician who came out welcomed me like an old friend.  I asked how his wife liked her new car (we’ve chatted at length each time he’s come out) and he asked how the real estate market is going.  Finally, he said “I like you and everything, but we’ve got to stop seeing each other.”  After a nice laugh, he called the warranty company and said “This refrigerator is a waste of everyone’s time.  We can’t keep repairing it – this lady is at the end of her rope.”

He listened to the person on the other end of the line and then turned to me. “They’ll offer you a buyout:  since it could be fixed with available parts, if you decline repairs, they’ll send you a check for the amount it would cost to repair it, so you can opt to replace the unit.”

I sat down on the Coleman cooler where we’ve been storing milk and eggs while the fridge is out.  ”And that’s how much?” I asked him.

He checked his computer.  ”It would be $279.00.”

Without even waiting for my response, he went back to the phone.  ”This isn’t realistic,” he said to the warranty rep.  ”I know we’ll be back out here in a month or two, and have to fix it again.  Can you just get this lady a new refrigerator?”

After several minutes, the rep came back on the line and said we’d been approved for a new fridge.  Dave, the repairman, was almost as happy as I was.

Today, I talked to the warranty company to find out how I would get my new refrigerator.  They directed me to a website where I could see the specs on their proposed replacement: it was NOT a GE (I said absolutely no GE) but a Whirlpool.  It looked very nice, but it was two inches deeper than our current refrigerator, and two inches wider.  This was a problem: it wouldn’t fit.

“Ma’am, we don’t match dimensions: just amenities and capacity.”

“Well,” I said, “We have a problem.”

After ten minutes on hold, he came back on the line.  ”We can offer you a buyout of the cost of the proposed refrigerator.  Or we can offer you a Sears merchandise card, which will be for the amount of the proposed refrigerator plus a bonus of 5% on top of that, totaling just over $800.”

I opted for the Sears card, and will get it in the mail in about a week.  I’ve been online looking at refrigerators for two hours.  Ice maker?  No ice maker?  Kenmore or Whirlpool?

I’ve narrowed it down to one that has an ice maker and similar storage to the one we had before.  With delivery and installation, plus $10 for them to haul away our old piece of crap refrigerator, we’ll end up with $9.00 left over on the card.  Then, in a few months when we can, we’ll have a plumber come over and for $100 or so, run a water line to the fridge for the ice maker.

In the meantime, the freezer still works so I’m alternating changing out ice packs from the freezer to the cooler and back and forth, to keep our milk, eggs and butter cold.  As my sister would say, “If it’s not one thing…it’s two things.”

Tomorrow, we have our hearing in bankruptcy court and I spent today madly scrambling through the house trying to find our social security cards.  Of course, we never put them in our wallets, as identity theft experts advise you don’t put them where they could be easily stolen.

That means they are somewhere in this vortex of matter known as our house.  MY GOD we have so much crap around here, even after I got rid of a truckload of things at the Goodwill.  PC called from work and said he didn’t have his Social Security card, either.  So tomorrow before our hearing (thank God it’s in the afternoon) we have to stop in at the social security office (in the same building as our hearing) and process an application for duplicate cards, get letters with our SSN on them for the court, and then hope to God we don’t lose the new cards when they finally get here.

I’ve been sifting through the mountains of paper in my office at home and have realized that it’s going to be a week-long process of sorting.  My father in law has one of those Neat Desk scanners and I’m tempted to ask him if I can borrow it for a week, to expedite the receipts and other things I need to input into Quicken.

Update:  PC found his card.  I still haven’t found mine and I’m pretty sure I won’ t find it until about ten minutes after I receive the new one in the mail in a few weeks.

The refrigerator is not chilling.  AGAIN.  This will be the fourth time since March 24 that it’s died.  The last three times, I’ve used a hair dryer to heat and melt the frozen condensation building up in the ducts from the freezer to the fridge section, per the advice of the repairman.  When I told the lady at the warranty company about it this morning, she got really quiet and said “Ma’am, how about if we send you a different repairman this time?”

Oh, and later this week?  My childhood home goes on the auction block.  GOOD.  TIMES.

I’m going to need some chocolate.

1.  You go to church, you wear nice clothes, the men should probably wear a tie, or at the least, a pressed shirt and nice pants – jeans are acceptable if worn with a nice shirt.  Women, whatever you want to wear is fine but try not to look like you’re going on a date with Flavor Flav.

2.  Church is dignified.  Church should have its announcements in the bulletin, or at the beginning of the service.  Gentle humor in the sermon is fine if it’s related to the liturgy.  Lectors, please read exactly what is in the Bible and don’t add or skip words and practice pronunciation ahead of time.

3.  There should be communion every time you go to church.  You don’t leave right after communion, you go home after the recessional, and then you eat lunch and watch football.

4.  The music should be done well, preferably with an organ and the choir.  No rock bands.  This is church, for God’s sake.  If you want to go to a concert, buy a ticket and go to an amphitheater.

5.  Church isn’t a party.  It’s worship.  Things are a certain way for a reason and you don’t screw around with them.

You see now why it took me a while to find a church he would agree to attend?

Our new church is pretty great – it’s very traditional, Lutheran, with solid music, a very established congregation, friendly people.

This past Sunday, we went to the service, which had been wildly promoted in the bulletin for three straight weeks beforehand.  The announcements had promised the [Name Withheld] Puppets from [anonymous] church were going to be performing at both services.  Naturally, I assumed they would have a few minutes of floor time during the five minutes the pastor reserves to talk to the little kids before he launches into his sermon each Sunday. I thought maybe a Lambchop sock puppet or something, to talk about how God loves his children.  You know…..a moment or two and then back to the traditional churchiness of church.

First off, the parking lot was PACKED when we got there. People were milling around in the lobby, and smiling widely, and the chitchat factor was about 50% higher than normal.  We got our bulletins and went inside to sit down and noticed that the back windows from the nave into the sanctuary were covered with black plastic sheeting and that all the window blinds were drawn over the stained glass.

And the altar?  It was covered all the way across by ranks of shoulder-height curtains on rods, three levels of them following the altar steps.  The curtains were moving in spots – clearly there were people milling around behind them, crouched down.  The lectern, the actual altar, the chalice and Bible….all were out of view.  And to the side, where our choir usually sits?  A teenage boy I didn’t recognize was sitting at a drum set, and a blandly smiling man next to him strummed away on an electric guitar.  I did not have a good feeling about where this was headed.

The pastor got up and, with a wooden smile that clearly conveyed that this production seven months into his new position at our church was a tradition he did not endorse and could not talk his staff out of, announced that the puppet troop from [anonymous] church was back for their third annual visit to our congregation.  ”The floor is yours, Sandy,” he said, and handed off the mic, walking back to sit down in the front pew next to his wife, who struggled to contain her laughter.

Sandy, from [anonymous] church, intoned in a sleepy and blissful voice how glad they were to be with us, and would we all stand with her as they shared some worship music.  Their electric guitar and drum set blammed into action, and Sandy started singing with her eyes closed and hands in the air, with muttered “Thank you, Jesus,” between verses.

I looked over at my husband, whose face had turned to stone, except for a pulsing muscle at his clenched jaw.  My daughter yeeeeaaaawwwwned audibly, and I looked abruptly at my feet to allow my hair to fall like a curtain to shield my face so they couldn’t see me laughing.

But then? Oh dear God.  Then came the puppets.

First, there was the trifecta of awful:  A sassy teenage girl, carrying a ventriloquist dummy, which was a bird puppet.  They did their bit after being introduced:  Norman (the bird) was just having trouble learning how to pray.  She tried to teach him the Lord’s prayer, which he butchered, line by line, ala “Who’s on First?”  The kids laughed, and many adults chortled along.  I was aghast.  When the bird/puppet shouted “Halloween be my name!” I risked a look at my husband, who was glaring angrily toward the stage.

Next, they had the big puppet troop put on their show, to pre-recorded music over the sound system.  And these weren’t like sock puppets: they were like MUPPETS.  Fundamental Christian muppets, with that goose-down floaty hair, googly eyes, hinged mouths and felted skin.  Singing.  As puppet shows go, it wasn’t bad – the people operating them turned out to be mostly children, and they had their timing down very well.

Like I said, as a puppet show?  Great.  As a CHURCH SERVICE?  You’ve got to be kidding. Because that was the whole service.  Effing puppets.  The worst was when they put out all the lights, plunging the church into complete darkness.  Then the blacklights went on, and a puppet that looked like a two-foot-wide disembodied human mouth started singing a Christianized version of Aretha Franklin’s classic song “Respect.”  With “background singers” that were these weird puppet creatures that looked like crinkle straws rising and falling, shrinking and expanding, back and forth, while singing “He sought me and he bought me and he sought me and he bought me…” instead of the original “Sock it to me sock it to me….”

You guys, it was absolutely dreadful.  Kids were eating it up, but I was feeling squirmy and mortified.  After the lights came back up, there was wild applause and then a man from [anonymous] church bounded up the aisle and announced the audience participation portion of the service.  All I could picture was the Armageddon that would ensue if this man were unfortunate enough to point at my husband to come up to the front.  Thankfully, PC was spared.

The nine volunteers were given cards that spelled out “S-A-L-V-A-T-I-O-N” and then there was a little schtik where the man sent them to sit down one by one until there was only the word “S-I-N” spelled out, and so on….. not unusual dogma for some churches, but absolutely not what is customary for our particular church.  PC glanced over at me and said, angrily,  ”I am never coming back here again.”

The ride home after church was mostly silent.  ”That was awesome,” said Rabbit.  ”Did you like it, Daddy?”  PC paused and then said carefully “Well….I like that you liked it.”

After she went to her room to change, PC announced that he was going back to the Catholic church, never going to this new church again, etc., etc.  Keep in mind, this was only about the fourth or fifth time he’d attended our new congregation.  We argued for about 40 minutes, with me maintaining that this was  an unfortunate fluke but not what the church was all about.  He insisted he was done.

I left for my afternoon open houses.  When I got home, PC said “I’ll go to the church, don’t worry.  But only when there’s communion and NEVER for something like that puppet show.  EVER AGAIN.”

On my morning walk today, four days later, I stopped in at the church and poked my head in the pastor’s office.  He waved me in and I hemmed and hawed and then finally said “Can I weigh in with my opinion about Sunday’s service?”   His eyes got wide and he grinned and said “Did you love it?”

I burst out laughing and said “No, it was horrible!” and he started to laugh and couldn’t stop.   Turns out, it was, as we say, not a hill he wanted to die on.  The act had been reserved long before he started at the church and part of building a rapport with your new congregation is to resist the urge to slash and burn and change things right off the bat.

I talked to him about PCs reaction, and we visited about why it had upset him so much.  Between earnestly discussing what is sacred in church and what is not, we kept laughing about the fact that we’d had to sit through an hour of puppets against our will (in his case, TWO SERVICES IN A ROW).

I really respect that the pastor of our church didn’t just come out and say “No way, we’re not doing this,” even though he could have, in order to be respectful of decisions that had been made before he started.  I also respected how he took the time to listen to me when I said “No way, I can’t believe we did this,” and to talk with me about getting together with PC to explain to him that this puppet show wasn’t what our church was really about.

The whole thing was surreal and funny and dreadfully cheesy and godawful.  I know there are churches that have drama teams and rock music and skits and other things they incorporate into their Sunday message.  I don’t disrespect that.  Really, I don’t.  But to take that method of worship and inject it into a setting that is otherwise very traditional and structured, and make that an hour of showmanship instead of a regular church service….it was jarring.  For my husband, it was absolute torture.

I’m not trying to start a debate about theology.  But really…..PUPPETS?

I haven’t stopped writing – not really.  I certainly haven’t stopped reading.  But I have taken a break from sharing, just because it’s been unbearable thinking about writing down some of the disappointments and struggles we’ve undertaken the past year or more.

Which is rich coming from someone who exhaustively documented my father’s illness and the grieving process after his death.

When finances went into the toilet for us, part of the process of getting through the tough times was to make it an interesting challenge:  stretch the budget, make homemade versions of expensive things, get by on less, get back to basics.

Then, the light at the end of the tunnel:  a fabulous, unbelievably good stroke of luck in the form of a tax refund in excess of $10,000 due to a calculated residual adoption tax credit, earned income credit for the fact that my sales income had been lower than expected and PC’s job starting late in 2010.    We anticipated that refund for months, waiting as the IRS sent letters asking for more paperwork, more clarification.

BOOOM!  A miscalculation in the adoption tax credit meant penalties, and a reduction in the refund and ultimately, a tax bill in excess of $2,700.  That news in January, on top of an abysmal winter in the housing industry for me, meant that we were in serious, serious, SERIOUS financial difficulty.

I think difficult is a sweet word for “up shit creek without a paddle.”

I couldn’t write much because I was paralyzed with worry and fear.  I didn’t want to write about food  (my passion!) because really…..even our food was mostly depressing.  With some help from family, we were able to keep our heads just above water.

In February, I started the month with a decision that regardless of the market, regardless of how last year went, I was going to turn things the hell around and have a good year.  I started with something very simple:  I smiled at people.  I went into the office every single day, almost without fail, and I smiled.  At open houses, I didn’t just smile, I said “Hi! Welcome!” to every person who walked in the door.

When I engaged people in conversation, I did something radical (for me).  I asked them if they had anyone helping them with their home search and when they said no, I asked “Can I give you my card?  I would love to help you.”  Crazy, right? I came right out and asked for business.

I started to pick up clients.  I called people I’d done business with in the past, and a couple of them sent me leads.  I put on a good face and I started to pick up new clients.  I closed two sales in April, which was the first income I’d had since THANKSGIVING of last year.

Things are starting to pull out of the terrifying and awful abyss we were in last year.  I sold three more houses and will have closings on them over the next three weeks.  I have several listings currently, and new buyer clients, and host open houses nearly every weekend in order to meet more clients.

Mostly, I’ve been working hard to stop feeling like a failure.  I have been pushing those thoughts out of my head.  I read last week that worrying is like praying for what you don’t want.

I don’t want to be that sad, scared and paralyzed woman who crawled through 2011 depressed and afraid to try.  I will never again put my family in a position where I am skipping meals to make sure my husband and daughter have enough to eat at dinner.

Things really, really are looking up.  We got a mortgage modification from our lender that will cut our house payment by $250 a month.  Of course, our debt reorganization bankruptcy hearing is next week, and every penny of that $250 a month will go toward the payments to the trustee to pay back our taxes and student loan debts.

I absolutely don’t say any of these things to garner sympathy.  I say these things to explain why I’ve been largely absent from here these past months.  I fell into an empty place and I have crawled out of it.  I think our experience can help someone else, but first we had to get through it, and we’re almost to the other side of it.  There are some other obligations to still take care of, but we’re finally, FINALLY seeing hope.

I’ll try not to talk so much about groceries!  I’ll not really dwell on the crap of the past several months any more, especially when so many other things have been happening, including the fact that my husband almost had a freakout at church last Sunday because the entire service was conducted by an out of town Christian PUPPET TROOP.  As in, muppet-like, singing gospel-ized versions of songs like Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” and a teenager with a ventriloquist act that involved a sassy parrot who botched up the Lord’s Prayer.  Be on the lookout for THAT post.

Plus, Rabbit’s third grade class has been studying embryology and we watched chicks hatch this afternoon at her school.

Oh, and next week, my childhood home is going up on the auction block.  Good times.

I love you, my few but faithful readers and friends.  I promise that if you stick around, I will make it worth your while.  Finally.  Again.

So I’m home with Rabbit, who is now, at 3:45 p.m., reaching that stage of paralyzing boredom that can only come during the period between a fun shopping trip and a sleepover at her friend’s house more than three hours from now.

It’s a grey and spectacularly windy day outside and this morning as we got out of bed, we could hear the wind roaring through the trees.  Rabbit slept in until after 9:00 a.m. and after she was up and had eaten breakfast, we got in the car and drove across town to Trader Joe’s.

Salsa Autentica, Salsa Verde, frosted flakes cereal, ground beef, frozen breaded fish, fire roasted diced tomatoes, enchilada sauce, French green beans, coffee, frozen organic corn, brussels sprouts, roasted green chilis, peppercorns, black olives, teeny tiny potatoes, eggs, apples, cherry tomatoes, melatonin, cheese sticks, sharp white cheddar cheese, cream cheese, butter, yogurt, soy coffee creamer, naan bread, corn tortillas, dried banana chips, tortilla chips, frozen lemonade, orechiette pasta.  Not pictured: the pretzel baguette and package of sliced salami/provolone that Rabbit and I ate in the car after we finished shopping.

Lesson:  don’t go shopping on an empty stomach with a nine-year-old girl.

Of course, these supplies along with what we already have should feed us for about ten days.  I mentioned a few posts back that I had learned to roast a chicken in my crock pot.  Well, I refined the recipe and it is to DIE FOR.  Of course, I don’t have photos of that.  I do have a picture of the clouds from last week’s drive to a nearby town to meet with a client:

Don’t worry, I wasn’t driving when I took the picture. Which is why the car behind me started honking.

Anyway. The chicken.

OH.  Yes, in the crock pot.

So I took a whole roasting chicken (about 6 pounds) that I got at HyVee for just 99 cents a pound.  I took out the packet of giblets from inside and threw them away.  I tried to pull out the neck from the cavity, but discovered it hadn’t been taken off, that it was still attached to the chicken’s body, which was oddly disturbing.  Oh well.

I dried off the chicken and put it on some waxed paper on the counter.  In a ziploc bag, I mixed together a couple of tablespoons of kosher salt, about a teaspoon of freshly cracked black pepper, and about half a teaspoon each of onion powder and garlic powder.  I added some dried minced parsley that I pulverized, about half a teaspoon of sugar, and about half a teaspoon of chili powder.  I shook it all up in the bag and then used this mixture to dry rub the entire outside of the chicken.

Then I stuffed a couple of lemon rinds inside the chicken.  I have a gallon ziploc bag full of lemon rinds in my freezer.  My friend Elizabeth in California sent me a box of lemons from her back yard a while back, and after juicing the ones we didn’t eat whole (for real), I froze the rinds.  Make note of that – I can’t believe how many lemon rinds I’ve thrown away when I could have used them later.

ANYWAY, the lemon rinds went inside the chicken and then I put a bed of coarsely chopped onion and several whole garlic cloves in the bottom of my big crock pot.  I sprayed the sides of the crock pot with Pam, then put the chicken inside, breast side up.  Turned the crock pot on low, went to work, and when I came home, that sucker was done.   After I took it out of the crock pot and stripped the meat off the bones, I put the carcass back in the pot, added celery and a bay leaf and 2 quarts of water and cooked it on high for a couple of hours for some VERY rich chicken stock.

From that chicken, I made the following meals:

1) Roast chicken (hot off the bird, which tasted AMAZING) with oven roasted yukon gold potatoes, roasted carrots and steamed broccoli;

and with the remaining chicken meat pulled off the carcass, shredded and portioned out in four different bags and frozen til used:

2) Chicken with onions and French green beans and garlic with naan bread (our quick go-to meal when I don’t want to cook much);
3) White chicken chili (with homemade stock, white beans cooked from dry, green chilis, etc)
4) Chicken taco cups (put chicken, cream cheese, salsa, black beans and corn in the crock pot and cook til it’s melty like dip.  Spoon into taco cups you make from corn tortillas baked in muffin tins).
5)  Chicken pot pie, made with more of the stock, some frozen veggies, and homemade biscuit topping.

Plus, we had leftovers from meals 3, 4 and 5 that we used for lunches.  All told, if you count each of the three of us as a meal, we got fifteen main dish servings from that chicken, as well as six leftover servings for a total of 21 servings from ONE DAMN CHICKEN.  Granted, my daughter doesn’t eat a whole lot, but I’m still pretty blown away by it.

Needless to say, though, we got a little tired of chicken.  Next time, I’ll space it out a little better.

This next two week’s menu will rely on the groceries I got, as well as some soups I froze, and lots of lunches.  Rabbit’s lunch box is still in heavy rotation: 90% of her school lunches are from home.  I have been sneaking gummy worms into her lunch container, which cracks her up, especially the one that looked like it was crawling out of her PB&J sandwich.  One day all I had to give her was leftover homemade pizza, apple slices, carrots and a cheese stick.  She was thrilled.  Weirdo.

PC and I have also put notes in her lunch box, which she saves in a little keepsake box in her room.

Enough about groceries and food.  Let’s talk about something else.

.

.

Yeah, well. That’s what’s going on here.  Actually, I’ve been extraordinarily swamped with work, picking up several new clients on referral from past clients and friends.  I have SEVEN houses listed, three of which are just finishing up getting prepared to go on the market.   I have two buyers under contract (one closes next month, another in June) and a couple of clients kinda sorta looking but in no hurry.  I literally have not been this busy with work in almost six years.

We got our taxes filed, I’ve been reading Robert Ludlum (The Bourne Identity) and watching the first and second seasons of Modern Family, which is a scream.  I want Cam and Mitch to be my next door neighbors.

Oh, and speaking of neighbors, the house across the street from us has new owners (the old owners didn’t list with me, not that I’m bitter) and the house behind us has new owners (it was a government foreclosure).  Both young couples, and the ones behind us have three kids including one in Rabbit’s grade.  A girl.  They’re putting up a fence, and asked if we minded if they put a gate in the back for the kids to go back and forth.  Are you kidding me?  That’s the greatest thing ever!

But now, of course, that means three sides of our yard have fencing, other than a little connecting fencing from either side to the house and the garage.  Which means that pretty soon, my husband is going to start asking for a dog.

Oy.  I’m going to go break out the chips and salsa.

Adapting a recipe I saw on that evil vortex of time suckitude (Pinterest), tonight I made banana ice cream.  Or banana “ice cream,” as there is no cream involved.

Friends, it was wonderful!

First off:  you don’t need any dairy at all, which is a godsend to the lactose intolerant.  If you want to add dairy, you can.  Here’s what I did.

I had three bananas that were headed south: brown flecks on the peel, the stems darkening, looking like the basis for yet another loaf of uber fattening banana bread.

Instead, I cut them into pieces and put them in a container in the freezer for a day.  This evening, I got them out and threw them into the food processor.  I added a couple of tablespoons of honey and a little white sugar (which I could have skipped).  I ran the food processor until the bananas looked like little Dippin’ Dots ice cream.  I scraped the bowl down and then at this point, you could add a little milk at a time, say a couple of tablespoons, and run the processor some more.

Instead of dairy milk, I had a can of light coconut milk I’d purchased at Trader Joe’s a while back, so I drizzled in some of that. As I ran the food processor some more, the mixture took on the texture of soft serve ice cream.

For good measure, I added a tablespoon of peanut butter, ran the processor some more and then scooped out the “ice cream” into three bowls, which were devoured by my daughter, her friend spending the night, and myself.

Next time, we’ll try it with bananas and strawberries.  But goodness, it was delicious and satisfying.  And for someone who can’t eat regular ice cream, this was a complete indulgence.

Try it!

But today it occurred to me that I do have a moderately warm place in the kitchen. Unfortunately, it is the inside of my #%($*% refrigerator.  For the second time in less than a month, the refrigerator is not chilling the food. The freezer is ice cold, but none of the cold air is getting to the lower portion in the refrigerator.

This is a bummer because we just got groceries, including ingredients for Rabbit’s lunches.  Already, the cheese has mold on it, after only two days.  I called the warranty company and asked them how many times they would spend $250 –  $400 to repair a $700 refrigerator before it occurred to them that they should just replace our fridge.  ”Ma’am, that’s a decision that we make upon the recommendation of the service technician.”

Well, the service technician that comes to our house on Thursday morning is going to get an earful from me.  So far, since we bought the refrigerator, they have had to fix either  the fridge or the freezer or the seal/gasket thing no fewer than eight times.  EIGHT TIMES.  Same problem (with the motherboard/motor of the freezer) at least four times.  I’m so sick of it.

Anyway, our surviving perishables are in a cooler in the kitchen again and I’m wiped out.

On a lighter note, our taxes got done.  We are expecting a decent refund, but it’s been reclaimed by the IRS to go toward our outstanding tax bill from 2009 and 2010.  *sigh*

I did have a closing today, and there will be another next week.   Then one in May and another in June.  Thank GOD.

I’ve discovered the ABC series “Modern Family,” which I’ve been watching online.   I’m only a short way into the first season, and I LOVE IT.  I love Mitch and Cameron and wish they lived in my neighborhood so we could hang out.

The other night, PC rented “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” and it was so convoluted and confusing, I fell asleep midway through.  He asked if I wanted to try watching it again and you know, life is just too short.

Additionally, I have quit three different library books in a row because they couldn’t keep my attention.  One of them, I quit after getting almost to the halfway point because I discovered I really didn’t like any of the characters.  Again, life is too short.

Not much else to say here.  I’m trying to blog more often, but I’m just so tired from work I feel like I’m just babbling.

What’s new with you?

I found a blog where someone in New York is feeding herself and her boyfriend on $30 a week.  But it’s all vegetarian and they have an amazing food co-op, and there’s a lot of food on her menu that I could never convince my husband and daughter to eat.  And besides, I’m not interested in giving up chicken or bacon.

We are, however, leaning away from beef.  The “pink slime” debate in the country, regarding IBP’s use of  ”lean beef trimmings” processed with an ammonia-based food disinfectant and added to ground beef…that was part of our discomfort.  Even though we know this has been going on for a long time, it’s still kind of nasty to think about.

The other part of it is the corn-feeding of cattle, which is standard operating procedure nowadays.  They aren’t meant to eat corn or grains – in fact, it’s terrible for them.  Their stomachs and digestive systems are designed for plants and grasses.  I know I didn’t FINISH reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma but I got to the final chapter.  I know that corn is not good for cattle, and that eating too much beef is bad for our health, bad for our environment and so on.

On the other hand, I live in a state where agriculture is a major factor in the economy, especially beef…and corn.  Omnivore’s dilemma, indeed.

Anyway, I don’t have any grand pronouncement today and am frankly not in the mood to debate with anyone about the subject.  If you think I should go vegan, I’m not going to.  If you think I’m overreacting to pink slime, that’s okay.  If you think the cattle industry is corrupt or that it’s sacred, well, you’re entitled to either opinion.

We’re just thinking about easing up on the beef consumption because it can’t hurt our health to do so.

We’ve been eating a lot more chicken around here lately anyway.  And today I discovered that I can ROAST A CHICKEN IN MY CROCK POT.

I know.  Thrilling, right?

I got a decent sized roasting chicken at Trader Joe’s for $5.01.  I rinsed it and dried it, then put it in the crock pot on top of a bed of coarsely chopped onions and several baby carrots.  I covered the chicken in a dry rub of salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, chili powder, cumin and a little tiny bit of sugar.  Then I dusted it with paprika.  Put the lid on, put it on high for about four hours and it was falling off the bone tender.

We had it for our midday dinner with oven roasted potatoes and oven roasted asparagus (both tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper).  SO GOOD.

The leftover chicken was pulled off the bones and put in the fridge.  Then I threw the carcass back into the crock pot with the leftover onions and carrots from cooking.  I added a bay leaf, a little celery, and poured in enough water to cover it, and set it on high for a few more hours.

I strained the stock, cooled the carcass and pulled off the last bits of meat.  When the stock cools, I’ll take the fat off the top and freeze the stock for soup or a casserole.  Best of all, I have several cups of chopped up chicken for some meals this week.  Not bad for a $5.00 chicken!

In other news.  I’ve eaten about fifteen chocolate chip cookies this weekend.  I’d like another one, because I like even numbers.

Also, I watched the most recent movie version of “Jane Eyre” this evening, and it was lovely.

That is all.

1.  Octopuses made from one Wimmers hot dog (if you live in this region, Wimmers are the exception to my “hot dogs are vile and nasty” rule.  They’re old fashioned dog in natural casings and Rabbit likes them cold).  Capers for eyes.  Cocktail dill pickles.  String cheese.  Peanut butter on celery.  Saltines.  Not pictured:  carton of yogurt and cafeteria milk.

Verdict:  She loved it.

2.  Deviled egg.  Smoked turkey.  Crunchy mini breadsticks.  Olives and a clementine.  Bite size Twix. Not pictured:  juice box.

Verdict:  ”Mommy, can you please peel my clementine next time?”  She only has about 11 minutes to eat at lunch (!!!) so we’re working on making food that is easier to eat fast.

Mozzarella, turkey and cherry tomato kebabs.  Grapes and strawberry.  Carrots and celery.  Almonds and chocolate cat cookies.  String cheese.  Not pictured: juice box.

Verdict:  Too much food and not enough time.  She went straight for the cookies and left the kebabs in the box.  We instituted a rule that the evening before I will show her what to eat first and after that, she’s done really well.

4.  Deviled egg.  Peeled and sectioned clementine.  Cherry tomatoes on a bed of string cheese strips. Chocolate cat cookies and almonds.  Juice.

This is tomorrow’s lunch so we’ll see what the verdict is.

I didn’t get pictures of several recent lunches.  For example, today she had cream cheese-filled pepperonis, string cheese, grapes and strawberries, bread stick minis, and chocolate cake (made with cake batter on the waffle iron) and peanut butter.  She ate every single bit.

I realize that someone may take issue with my use of juice boxes – they were on sale and Rabbit doesn’t drink any other form of juice at home or at school.  Also, a couple of her meals appear to be higher in sodium than may be optimal (the hot dog one, for instance) and I see that.  But compared with the school lunches she was eating before, these are paragons of nutrition.

Some past lunches also included edamame (soy beans), raisins, a peanut butter sandwich, veggie chips from Trader Joe’s, and other healthy things.  I’ve found that the more fun it looks, the less she objects to a new food.  I’ll usually show her the lunch the night before because if it’s not a standard, she doesn’t like to be surprised with what’s in a meal.

I have some corn tortillas that I plan to bake in miniature muffin cups to form tiny taco shells/taco salad bowls. I will serve those with shredded baked chicken, cheddar cheese, tomatoes and some sour cream (which she would eat by the pint).  She’s also been enjoying applesauce and cottage cheese in her lunches.

I guess we consume a lot of dairy in our house!  Cottage cheese, cheese, cream cheese, milk, yogurt. We also eat a lot of eggs: about a dozen a week (I guess that’s a lot?).

PC isn’t on the cold lunch bandwagon.  But he still takes lunch to work – usually leftovers from dinner the night before.  Roast beef and potatoes and gravy.  Chicken scallopine and pasta.  Tacos, enchiladas, or soup.  Occasionally we won’t have leftovers and he’ll take the makings of a sandwich, or a can of soup to heat up in the break room.

When I pack Rabbit’s lunch in the morning, I slide a flat ice pack (about 1/2″ thick) into a cloth napkin (to absorb condensation) into the bottom of the insulated lunchbox and then put her plastic container inside on top of it.  If there are extras (yogurt or juice) I put them on top and sometimes put another small ice pack next to them.

We tried freezing a small Rubbermaid screw-top juicebox container of water one day but it hadn’t thawed by lunch time and the straw inside broke.  Waste of $2.00.

Overall, we’re really pleased with her lunch experience and cannot say enough good things about the lunch box itself.  It’s also nice to know how much she’s eating at the end of the day by looking in her container, instead of relying on her sketchy memory from hot lunch.

Additionally, I’m noticing that she’s not as sluggish at the end of the day, usually has her homework done early and is more respectful in general, which could be a combination of quitting hot lunch and not watching as much TV.

Either way – viva lunchbox!