July 18: Gingersnap-Raspberry Sandwiches

Ugh. Tired.

James and I went to a No Doubt concert last night with our friends Rob and Renee. I think I overhopped.

That Gwen--girlfriend has some energy. She hopped, jumped, bounced and ran for two hours. Even did a few push-ups. And her hair horns stayed perfectly in place. Amazing.

(And the people-watching at that concert? Holy. Cow.)

I, however, feel like I'm going to die. It was a very late night. But then, yesterday was a very busy day. Actully, it was a very busy weekend. Earlier in the week I wrote out a to-do list, and I swore I would get through as much as possible. I managed to achieve quite a bit. One item was "cookies." I handled that on Saturday with Gingersnap-Raspberry Sandwiches (p. 105).

I chose them because one ingredient is "good raspberry jam." Please. I make the best raspberry jam. I'm not sure my family liked them; I guess they're not ginger fans. But I was all about crossing things off my list, so I was happy. Also, I was on a ginger kick that started last Monday with ginger/honey/lemon martinis with Renee. Mmmm.

We'd been having a hard time pulling off a Martini Night, but when James took Christian salmon fishing for two days, we found our opportunity. Christian caught a 17.5 pound salmon, and I got a little break from the family schedule.

That schedule can be exhausting. There's always something going on. Some things are planned, like camping trips and concerts and soccer practices. But some things, like yesterday's decision to go innertubing, are impromptu. We spent the better part of the day on Lake Washington with the boys and Christian's friend Nate. The boat is all better after several weeks in the repair shop. This trip we had only two incidents: Nate jumping in the lake and getting his shorts caught on a cleat (he hung there until James could unhook him), then Nate jumping off the boat and missing the dock (he splashed around until James could haul him out). I would have helped him, but I was busy trying to hang onto the boat. Long story.

This week Christian has no summer camp plans, so I'm working from home. It seemed like a good idea in March when I made these plans. But now, not so sure. I like routine. And going to the office is routine.

Is it too early to start looking forward to fall? Renee and I compared schedules for the rest of the summer, and it's overwhelming. Camping trips (three more planned), a Dave concert, soccer tournaments, mother-in-law's garage sale, mother-in-law's move, preschool field trips, birthday parties (Renee and I are having to combine our two 11-year-olds' kid parties to make it work), middle school orientation, family get-togethers, book club meetings. And that's just the fun stuff.
So Gwen Stefani may be able to hop around a stage for two hours at age 40, but can she juggle 24/7?

July 4: Cornmeal Thyme Cookies

Oh, my head hurts.

I wish I could say it's the result of a fun night of drinking, but no such luck. Just a head cold, along with a sinus headache. I hope the codeine kicks in soon.

Already it's July 8. Where did June go? Even the Fourth of July came and went in a blink. We stayed in town again this year for the neighborhood party: BBQ picnic; sidewalk art contest; kid-n-bikes parade; live band; water fights; and illegal fireworks in our park (including two that were federally banned). I hid out in the kitchen a lot of the weekend making jam. I'm already six batches into Jam Season, and that's just a good start. I've got lots of jamming to go.

On the Fourth I also managed to squeeze in a batch of cornmeal thyme cookies (pg. 65). (At least I think that was the Fourth--it's all a blur now.) James made a face when he tried the first one, but he kept asking for more, so I guess he liked them. Ian ate several, but Christian wasn't a fan. They're more savory than sweet, with cornmeal, thyme and currents. I just like baking anything that has ingredients from my backyard. Later on the Fourth I also popped out a batch of profiteroles just for fun. The rest of the neighborhood women were out whooping it up in the park, while I baked. This is precisely why we're not popular. I also hid on my front porch with Renee to read while the rest of the 'hood partied across the street. Call us anti-social, but at least we're well-read misfits.

There's one more weekend of idleness ahead of us before the summer really cranks up. Between camping trips and soccer tournaments, most of the summer is booked. That's why I enjoyed last weekend so much. I love unscheduled time. Stirring a pot of jam while reading a book on a lazy summer morning is bliss. My life feels so scheduled, full of deadlines, timelines and ticking clocks, that any time I get to just do what I want is priceless.

But I do need to work in more time for jam. And I'm feeling like I need to bake some cakes, and maybe some bread. Last summer I had some success with brioche and rosemary bread. I'm also suffering cookie guilt, as--while I haven't actually done the math lately--I'm suspecting that I'm behind schedule. Wasn't the goal 40 recipes in 52 weeks?

I've sort of checked out of the cooking thing lately. But I'm starting to dig my kitchen again. Maybe it's all that time I've been spending with pots and pans and kitchen scales. Making jam is a religious experience in our house. It's a ritual--a rite of summer. The berry is king in my kitchen between June and August. Even my boys, who normally disregard anything I say, know that jamming is serious business. Part science and part art, it's something I truly love to do. The funny thing is that I give most of it away.

Does that make me a generous person or just a Jam Pimp?

Well, no time now to ponder my jam motives. It's 10 p.m., and the boys are still up. My headache is better, but the house is a mess. The kitchen needs to be cleaned, I haven't had dinner, and my husband just discovered my Whoppers stash. And I have a 52"x30" original oil painting of a half-naked Inuit boy on my living room floor.

Don't ask.