We’ve already agreed that I’m a slow learner. Particularly when it comes to the kitchen.

So you will not be surprised to learn that it was only over the weekend that I finally discovered the fun of making risotto.

Saturday night, I made wild mushroom risotto. Sunday night, I made it with asparagus and stirred in the leftovers from Saturday night.

I always thought that risotto was especially mysterious and effortful. But it’s dead easy — just lots of stirring.

Kayso, here’s how to make the asparagus kind, which was much better than the mushroom kind.

You need asparagus, olive oil, soy sauce, onion, arborio rice, white wine, Parmesan cheese, and 6 cups of liquid.

Take some asparagus. Enough for however many people you have as a side dish. Break off the woody ends — you know how to do that, right? You just hold the tip in one hand and the very end in the other and bend it. It breaks off at the border between woody and tasty — and slice into inch-ish pieces. Put some olive oil in a very big skillet and stirte the asparagus; add a generous dash of soy sauce after a couple of minutes. Stirte until the asparagus is bright green and starting to get tender, then put it in a bowl and set aside.

Meanwhile, put your chosen liquid in a saucepan and turn up the heat to bring it to a boil, then let it simmer. Choose whatever liquid you want the risotto to taste like. Vegetable broth, chicken broth, I guess beef broth if you eat beef. Here’s an important tip: Use low-salt broth. You’ll be super sorry if you don’t.

Don’t clean the skillet. Add a little bit of olive oil and 1/2 cup or so of finely chopped onion. Stirte until it’s starting to get translucent–twotythree minutes. Then add a generous cup of arborio rice and stirte until the ends of the rice grains are translucent, another minute.

Add 1/2 c. of white wine and stirte until it’s all absorbed into the rice.

Now starting adding the liquid in 3/4 cup aliquots. Aliquots is a word from chemistry or  maybe nursing and it means portions of a liquid. OK, I just looked it up and it doesn’t exactly mean that, but let’s pretend it does.

Add an aliquot and stir until it’s almost absorbed. Meaning you can separate the rice without it oozing back into one gooey pile, but it doesn’t make a sizzling the-liquid-is-all-gone noise.

Do it again. Each aliquot will take twotythree minutes to be semi-absorbed. If it takes longer, turn the heat up some more.

After about ten minutes, you’re halfway done, so be strong and persevere with the stirring.

Aliquot on for another seven or eight minutes. You should be getting to the bottom of your pan of liquid. Check the texture of the rice. It should be just slightly crunchy, indicating you’re within an aliquot or so of being done.

When the very last one is in the pan, let it absorb almost completely. Stir in the asparagus so it’s in there just long enough to heat through without cooking more. Turn off the heat and stir in about 1/2 c of grated Parmesan. Let your conscience be your guide here–I love me some P cheese so I use a whole 1/2 cup.

Put on a plate and eat it up. Amaze yourself.

{ 0 comments }

This past weekend, half of Hoffman Bros. and I went up to Skydive Kapowsin because a) the forecast was beautiful and b) there were going to be helicopter jumps.

a) came true. We did four jumps on Saturday with 1-3 other people. I couldn’t believe how rusty I felt after only seven weeks without a skydive. I mentioned to HHB that I felt much rustier than I had after a longer layoff last winter. He said, “No offense, but last year, you didn’t have that much to lose.”

b) also came true. JJ took these pictures — he’s a wicked awesome cameraflyer. It was a Hughes 500 heli–we got to 5,000 feet in about six minutes, hanging our legs out the door the whole time. Then we climbed out and stood on the strut. I love how we look like we’re just standing on the corner, posing for the camera. Except for the weird gear, of course. I’m wearing the full face helmet that Jennifer sold me for the price of a jump ticket — it’s the main thing that makes winter jumping bearable

Photo by Jeff JJ Johnson

Then comes the BEST PART EVER. You just step off and fall back.

This is a seriously awesome picture. Notice the rotors and the pilot looking down to see if we’re clear.

Photo by Jeff JJ Johnson

This is probably a second after we stepped off. I fell onto my back, like Nicole is already starting to do. While there, I thoroughly enjoyed the most delicious feeling of weightlessness which I wish would last forever but only lasts for about four seconds, until I start falling fast enough that I can feel the relative wind from below.

Later that day, after a regular skydive or two, HHB asked me if I thought we should do another heli jump. That would never have occurred to me. I kind of thought of it like Halloween candy. You know, you’re supposed to just take one. But it was a great idea, and I enjoyed the second jump just as much. I fell on my back for as long as I could, milking every second of feeling like I weighed nothing at all.

All in all, we did eight jumps this weekend, and I have the bandaids on my finger from packing to prove it. I’m pretty sore and almost stupid tired, but it was absolutely, completely worth every second of it.

{ 2 comments }

A long time ago, before my life imploded in late 2010, I used to read. Something happened to my brain, plus skydiving, packing, moving, unpacking, and HHB. In the last sixteen months or so, I’ve read three books. Maybe four.

But I recently figured out that, after spending my day looking at screens, it’s not a good idea to watch movies in the evening. I got a library card. And the little library just down the hill is the sweetest thing.

A week ago or so, I checked out three books.

The People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks

The River Wife by Jonis Agee

The Consequences of Love by Sulaiman Addonia

The first one was recommended to me by Nurse Tattoo. It was excellent.

The second two are part of my new plan for picking books. They were excellent, too, especially the last one, about which I’ll say more in a mo.

I decided to read through the sweet little library from A to Z. I’m starting in the first bookcase in the As; hence, the A authors. I’m not reading every book, but this plan encourages me to read things I otherwise might not.

Take The Consequences of Love.

It’s written by an Eritrean refugee who lived in Saudi Arabia before successfully seeking residency in London. It’s a spellbinding story of what it means to young men and women to live under Sharia law. I had NO idea. I stayed up reading until 11:30 one night-and it’s been a long, long, loooonnnnggg time since I’ve forfeited sleep for a story.

I returned my books to the library yesterday. I went back over the first A bookshelf to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, and I found five more books I want to read.

I have apparently been missing lots and lots of good books. At some point, I’m going to have to move on to the Bs.

I can’t decide if this plan is anal or adventurous. So let’s call it adventuranal.

{ 2 comments }

On my usual run this morning, a guy in a car called to me.

“Honey,” he said, “there’s a coyote right across the road. See him on the hill?”

I looked across the road and, sure enough, a coyote was staring at me and Buster. Sitting there perfectly still in the broad daylight, half hidden by a tree, and staring. (And, yes, this was an actual coyote.)

“Thanks!” I said, overlooking the ‘honey’ part because he’d done me a favor.

“I’m going to drive with you until you’re past him,” he said. And he did, on the other side of the road. After a few seconds, he yelled at the coyote, and it turned and went back into somebody’s back yard. Because this was on a busy street, on which runners run and middle schoolers walk to school (and say, “Good morning” or raise a hand in greeting as they pass, which I’m still getting used to). But there are large patches of woods and my run takes me to the edge of open farmland, so I can see how a coyote would end up wandering through backyards.

He drove off and I waved ‘thank you’ at him.

Now I know that coyotes are very afraid of humans. As they should be. The odds that it would have run across the road at me are very slim. Even with Coyote Bait Buster at my side, my humanness would have been enough to dissuade him from a closer encounter. Still, it was very sweet of some unknown man to take it upon himself to save us.

I’m quite amused that I live in a neighborhood in which I can be stalked by a coyote and saved by a guy in a BMW.

{ 6 comments }

Half of Hoffman Bros. has a cat, Calico. She’s a very pretty little kitty, who he suspects had a crucial deprivation of oxygen as a kitten. We’ve discussed whether she has Asperger’s or Tourette’s syndrome.

In either case, it’s hard work being her. In addition to all the inherent difficulties of being a cat, such as constantly being on the wrong side of the door, she does not like being touched. Cuddling is out of the question. When HHB picks her up, she sounds like she’s being gutted.

Only, in the middle of the night, she sometimes decides that she wants to be petted. Then she jumps up on the bed and does a sweet little mrow? and gently pats you with one paw. It’s like she’s a different cat.

It’s taken her a long time to get used to me being around on the weekends. Not to mention Buster, so we won’t even talk about that. She very occasionally lets me scratch her on the head. For about three seconds.

But, recently she mrow‘d at me in the middle of the night and ever so sweetly patted my shoulder. Waking from a deep sleep, my first thought was, “She picked ME!!”

If Buster decided he wanted affection in the middle of the night, I’d think, “Get over it, buddy!” and roll over.

But I scratched her neck the way she likes it, feeling anointed all the while.

It’s not a healthy relationship.

{ 6 comments }

Last night, half of Hoffman Bros. and I went to the symphony. We heard Joshua Bell play Brahms’ violin concerto. I listen to that piece of music on a regular basis–it’s on my work playlist as performed by Yehudi Menuhin–but I have never ever heard it like this. The second movement is very beautiful and quiet. While JB was playing his bits, I don’t think anyone in the audience even breathed.

You can listen for yo own self here.

This performance is from 2003 in Brazil, but you get the gist.

Sigh. I highly recommend that you track down the other movements on YouTube from this performance and get yourself some of your own rapture.

That’s part one of today’s post. Part B relates to the weather.

Of which we are currently having some.

Snow. For some of you, snow is a pretty humdrum experience. But for me–it’s a red, er, white letter day.

That’s the view from my office window. I realize this picture is very blurry, and I don’t know why. I’m not enough of a photographer to retake it, anyway, because you can see the snow on the roofs. Pretty, huh?

I now live 500 feet above sea level. Here on my hill, we’re having this kind of snow while, down below, they’re not. For some reason, that amuses me very much. And it also made me go to the bank and post office first thing this morning instead of waiting until the afternoon.

I also took Buster out for his customary walk, wearing boots, snow pants, and two jackets (me) and a jacket (him, which makes him look very unmanly. Not that I’m projecting or anything. I got it out for the firs time this winter a couple of days ago, and he didn’t want me to put it on him. I could hear his little brain going, “I’ll never get a date wearing that thing.”)

We went across the street to a park, where I let him off leash and he promptly bolted over to play with a very lovely yellow lab. I dashed after him, only to find out that the lab belonged to the son of my very good friend Cherry. So Adrian and I stood in the snow–great, gloppy flakes containing about a teaspoon each of water–while the dogs chased each other and a toy that Adrian was throwing.

Buster wanted Bella to do something at one point, which he communicated as, “Bark. Bark bark bark. Bark bark bark bark bark. Bark. Bark. Bark.” (et cetera) while staring at her. Bella didn’t understand, and neither did the rest of us.

You can imagine that dashing around in the snow with language barriers would be EXHAUSTING for a brown boy. It was. I recently left his very favorite bed at half of Hoffman Bros. house, because I grew weary of carting it back and forth. He has deep abiding Ell Oh Vee Ee for that bed…

http://wrinklerella.com/?p=3269

… so I needed to come up with something that would be just as excellent. Witness the New Clamshell.

Let’s just all agree to not talk about the fact that this clamshell bed is just as high-maintenance as the other one. Some dogs figure out how to burrow under covers–mine is not one of them. Clamshells, old and new, require human intervention.

But he does look happy in kind of an ass-first, couldn’t bend his legs if his life depended on it way.

{ 1 comment }

Toward the end of last year, one of my big clients decided that I needed to become a different kind of contractor. Instead of maintaining my independent status and sending them invoices, they asked me to become an employee of a temporary firm.

This was a monumental PITA. Just filling out the forms took hours. Not to mention the trek across town to pee in a cup under the supervision of an armed matron.

OK, just kidding. She wasn’t armed.

Anyway, after numerous kerfuffles, like them losing my paperwork but not really, not having a timesheet and then not having any activity codes on my timesheet and my start date being wrong, I finally have all the parts in order.

And here’s what happens.

Every couple of weeks, MONEY APPEARS IN MY CHECKING ACCOUNT.

For many of you, this has probably been happening for a long time. But, for me, money has only appeared in the form of checks in the mailbox that I take to the bank and deposit. Then I go  home and divvy it out among several different accounts: taxes, personal savings, business savings, and, oh yeah, the part I get to spend.

Money also appears in my other checking account sometimes. My client in Copenhagen has a payment department in Bangalore that directly deposits payment. This amuses me immensely, when I’m not clarifying ABA numbers for the umpteenth time. But I never know when the money will show up–and I’m always ever so slightly surprised when it does.

Not like having a PAYDAY.

{ 1 comment }

Kayso, I only have time to post a couple of pictures of the cabin, in and out, because I’m hurrying to meet a deadline for work.

Out:

That is not, although it certainly looks like it could be, an outhouse immediately outside the front door. It’s a wind/snow break, we think, that used to be all cute and wood-shingled, but now looks like a construction zone. The red thing on top is the sled/ge, which, when you balance it across the corner of the wind/snowbreak, functions as a refrigerator. The blue thing is a tarp that kept the contents of the sled/ge in place during the haul.

But what about the internal amenities?, you ask. Thanks to half of Hoffman Bros.’ photographic and technical skillz, we have a panoramic view:

What you can’t see, off to the left, is a bedroom with a perfectly lovely double bed. More on that later. Also my half of Hoffman Bros. definitely took a picture and made panoramas including it, but I liked this one the best.

You can see that there’s a propane heater and a range. There were also solar lights, so it was quite swank. The disassembled kitchen faucet was on the windowsill, so we suspect that they hook it back up and use the cabin for other purposes during warm weather (it’s only available as a rental during the fall and winter).

It was warm and we had warm food.

Perfect.

{ 1 comment }

On Christmas Day, half of Hoffman Bros. and I went to the mountains.

We rented a forest service cabin.

The arrow points to the right side of our cabin. There was also an entire left side, which, since I’m not a photographer, I didn’t take a picture of. I did take a farther-away shot of the whole thing, but it looks like there was Vaseline all over the lens of my camera (which I am still thanking you all for every time I pick it up, MWAH).

Those other structures are unused in the winter.

This is also not our cabin. It’s the one next to our cabin.

How cute is that? And also the source of a Perpetual Mystery, because a sign on the door says ‘Caulked boots only.’ Huh. We peered in the windows and it was empty inside, so I’m not sure if the sign was only a relic. Nor am I sure at all about what caulked boots are and why they were welcome, while my own completely uncaulked boots wouldn’t be.

When we planned this trip back in November or so, we thought about cross-country skiing. Then we decided to try snowshoes, which neither of us have ever done. My partner in adventuring has many friends with snowshoe connections, so we actually had four borrowed pairs to choose from for our adventure.

Unfortunately, the one thing we didn’t have all that much of was snow. It’s been a very dry December in these parts, and the snow on the ground ranged in depth from none to about six inches.

Nevertheless, it was beautiful in the extreme. Witness:

This is a view of Fish Lake, which is where the cabin is. It’s one of two winter-rentable cabins at Fish Lake Remount Station, which was a stop along a packtrail across the Cascades.

During the summer, it’s an interpretive site. Which inspired me to do an interpretive dance about fish and to wonder if they were hiring.

Parking is about a mile from the cabin and you have to bring your own potable water, which necessitates backpacks and sleds. Or, as they’re called when you’re dragging them over pine needles where you expected there to be snow, sledges.

Snow or no, it was cold and quiet.

In other words, perfect.

{ 1 comment }