Aug. 15: Carrot Cake Sandwiches

Summer is hard on a blog. I'm crossing my fingers that fall will be easier. There's just so much going on that it's hard to find time to bake.

We're finally pulling out from under a couple of weeks' worth of cloud cover. I'm pretty certain that up there above the clouds, the season was changing while we weren't looking. The sun is out again today, but there's a chill in the air that whispers "fall."

I baked Carrot Cake Sandwiches (pg. 202) last night. I hope they were worth it, as in the course of baking them I dropped an egg and then a cookie on the floor. James liked them--especially after I added the cream cheese/butter/powdered sugar filling. Christian, not so much. Ian would eat sandpaper and say "yum." I sent a couple over to the Simmons and will see what they think. I'll probably take some to the office tomorrow. I didn't put any nuts in just so Linda can have one. (Her last nut experience turned into a trip to the ER. I don't want that on my hands.)

Ah, the house is nice and quiet for a change this morning. Boys are playing. James is shopping--out buying new goodies for the newest member of our family.

We call it the "motyhome." I sometimes refer to it as the Mt. Tioga. And some of my friends like the term "James' 31-foot ding-ding." All fit.

It was a long time coming. James has wanted one for years. I've resisted for years. The boat was supposed to have prevented this purchase, as in "I'm buying either a boat or a motorhome. You choose." This was James' ultimatum last spring. Since boats are cheaper, I chose the boat. Way to go boat. You did me absolutely no good.

Our first trip is Thursday. Then we're off to the Gorge for Labor Day, where Dave Matthews will serenade us into autumn. After that the motyhome goes to sleep for the winter. My advice: Buy a motorhome in the spring so you have more chances to use it before a long winter of storage fees and motorhome payments.

In addition to two camping trips, our schedule is full, full, full. Has been for several weeks. But I've squeezed in some baking and jamming anyway. I baked an almond-honey cake last Saturday morning, before Mary and I had a jamming session. Afterward we went to see Julie & Julia. Note: I thought of this cookie blog before I ever heard of Julie Powell and her Mastering the Art of French Cooking blog. (Side note: When I got my copy of that book in 2008, I considered cooking my way through it, too. Again, long before I ever heard of Julie. But I would have stopped at the lobster.)

I have a couple of cakes and brownie batches in my near future, too. Christian has asked for a Chocolate Death cake for his birthday, which is the day we leave for camping next week. Chocolate Death is actually a chocolate blackout cake, but in the course of making my first one, I called it Chocolate Coma. Then when I realized I had to add a layer of cake crumbs to the outside after frosting it, I renamed it. He also wants the Barefoot Contessa's Outrageous Brownies. So, I'll be baking before camping and then transporting to Lake Cushman. Heck of a lot easier doing that in the Mt. Tioga I'm thinking.

Other things to look forward to:

1. A family get-together at my Great Aunt Barbara's house, which is just 20 minutes from my house. I normally drive at least 45 minutes for family things. I think I'll drive up to Barbara's and back three or four times, just so I can enjoy the short drive more than once.

2. Farmville! I'm hooked. I have crops maturing as I type.

3. Dave, Dave, Dave.

4. School!!!

5. Bookclub and an after-hours work party in the same week!

Now, I think it's time for a shower. Then out to work in the yard. My plants are telling me that fall is near. I need to fill the birdfeeder for the chipmunks. And I have quarters to roll. And a house to clean. And groceries to buy. And where did that Costco list go? Cripes. When I'm bitching about the cold in December, remind me of how much work summer is, okay?

Aug. 2: Chocolate Malt Sandwiches

Tonight I'm not inspired. I'm just exhausted. I think the entire Pacific Northwest is exhausted. The heat has been unreal and unrelenting. Wednesday was a record-breaker. All conversations were about the heat: how hot it was going to get, how everyone was handling it and how long it would last. I thought about winter--when I started this blog--and how cold it was. And how I was trapped at home with my family with my Christmas shopping unfinished and snow falling every day. I decided that I prefer the heat. (But thank God for air conditioning.)

On Wednesday I stepped out on our porch to take a photo from the same vantage as the one I took on that cold day in December. I can't believe that was only seven months ago. How quickly time passes and what a difference the changing seasons make.

It's high summer now, and we're in full summer mode.

We camped at Blue Lake last weekend with the Higgins and Simmons families. Despite vicious winds the first night, we ended up having a great time. Looking back, we're grateful for the clouds that softened the sun, as our last day was cloudless and blistering hot. We had six adults, six kids, two boats, two motorhomes, two tents and one dog. We sat around the campfire, tubed, hiked, laughed and relaxed. But it seems to have been the last time we would camp with tents because yesterday James bought a motorhome.

It was a long time coming. Years, in fact. I've been resisting all this time. But there's no stopping James once he's made up his mind. And I have to admit that I got sick of camping in the dirt. Not to mention our experience with the broken tent and air mattress in June. As James said as we sunk to the rocky ground at 3 a.m. on the first night: "I bet you wish we had a goddam motorhome now."

And now we do. We pick it up later this week. All 31 feet of it. James and I stood out in the melting heat of the Poulsbo RV lot last Thursday evening, looked at it and said, "that's a lot of motorhome." And we then we sighed.

I wish now that I'd snagged that little coffee pot that we tried to unload at Wilma's garage sale yesterday. It would have come in handy in the motyhome. Denise, Aunt Cheryl and I spent Friday night and Saturday until 4:00 peddling my mother-in-law's treasures for $1 each. Linda joined us on Saturday to help--I couldn't have done it without the extra hands and good company. Wilma's move to the retirement home will coincide with the start of school. That means we have a lot of summer left to pack into the next month.

And that includes cookies. I still haven't added them all up, but I don't think I'm 7/12 of the way through the 42 recipes. I keep telling myself that the big push will come in December with all the Christmas cookies I'll bake. (I say that every year, and then I end up with a couple of tubes of Pillsbury sugar cookie dough.)

So, even though I was exhausted today, I managed to bake Chocolate Malt Sandwiches (pg. 41) tonight. This was a challenging recipe that I've been putting off because it calls for malted milk powder and creme fraiche. I finally found the malt, but I gave up on finding creme fraiche and made it instead. (Thank you Julia Child.) I felt kind of weird mixing buttermilk with whipping cream, heating it up and leaving it on the kitchen counter all day. Setting dairy products out to go sour seems un-American somehow. But I told myself that creme fraiche is French, so it's okay. It's an unclean country, right? All those hairy armpits and small showers and all.

James declared that tonight's cookies are an 8 out of 10. "Too sweet" for him to eat more than two. Christian gave them 1 1/2 stars out of three, the ungrateful punk. And Ian will eat anything.

Me? I haven't tried one. But I sampled the filling--which was, I admit, awfully rich and sweet.

So, now I'm sitting here trying to finish this post. The boys are in bed. The cookies are done. And James is calling me every few minutes: "What are you doing in there?!" He can't stand it that I'm in here writing, ignoring him. The big baby. It drives me crazy.

And so tonight I'm exhausted. It's been a long week. Camping, post-camping, housework, triple-digit heat, garage sales and yardwork have wiped me out. Toss in two double batches of jam (I can't believe I'm admitting to such blasphemy--it was Denise's idea), one divine pedicure, a pre-school field trip, and the biggest purchase after two houses, I can honestly say it's been a full week.

But all things considered, it's still better than a blizzard.