It's a Weekend Wrap-Up, Bless Our Little Pea Pickin' Hearts

The weekend at Casa de Chelle was busy and productive, and, started off a little bit early.

Because we were expecting delivery of our new living room furniture sometime between 10 and 2 on Friday; Hugh busted out the carpet cleaner on Thursday afternoon. Our old furniture was relocated to the garage, where it awaited pickup by a couple of Hugh's friends from the fire department (and, God bless them, because I wouldn't wish that broken-down mess on anyone), so he had an almost-blank canvas on which to work, and we were guaranteed a dry floor by Friday.

I really don't want to talk about what came out of that carpet, but you can bet your boots that new carpet is the priority sometime in the very near future (once we recover financially from the new furniture, kitchen appliances, phones, taxes, wedding, etc., etc.).

The new furniture arrived earlier than the anticipated window, which was a nice surprise. I had the living room back in order by 10:00, and I am already in love with the new stuff. Who knew that a couch with actual support would be easier on the back and hips? My mind, it is blown.

And my hips are grateful.

I spent the rest of Friday doing household chores, as well as practicing my candle-decorating skills by making more pillar candles with pressed flowers. I'm feeling pretty confident in my ability at this point.

Saturday morning, Mom and the kids met us at the house for the drive to Pickin' at the Pea. This year's spring show was the best that I have ever been to! Usually, there are fewer vendors at the spring show, in comparison to the fall show. This year, however, I would say that there were just as many vendors, if not a few more.

Shanti and the Man-Cub had never been to the show before, so, naturally; we introduced them to the Mennonite coffee and donuts. They were every bit as impressed as we always are.

They were also impressed with the variety of items available at the sale. The Man-Cub left with several rocks, one of which was an amethyst crystal that weighed as much as a small paperweight.

I purchased another silver tray for the wedding, and Mom picked up a silver gravy boat that we are going to use in the decor at Shanti's bridal shower. We basically got off cheap this time around. 

One item that I would have gladly coughed up a lung in exchange for was, sadly, not for sale; it was a pristine Gotham Industries metal and melamine picnic set from the 1950's or 1960's. I doubt I will ever see such a complete set again, but I am so happy that I got to see one in the wild once in my life.

A core childhood memory was unlocked when I saw this vintage horse display; I had a collection of horses when I was a kid. I wanted a real horse, but, alas, I was denied.

I'm still a little sad about it.

I took this picture so that I could send it to Erin and Kristi. See, bitches? You didn't have to move to the UK to see royalty! You could have done that from home!

And, speaking of Erin and Kristi; I also sent them this picture of Tom and Sean, who we ran into at the Pea. I knew they would be jealous of us all enjoying Mennonite donuts and Queen Elizabeth memorabilia without them. That's what they get!

After picking our way around the Pea, we went back home to grab the gift basket that I put together for Katie Girl's baby shower.

What's that, you say? You didn't know that our Katie Girl was expecting? Yes, indeed! She an her hubby will welcome a baby girl of their own in June.

The shower was nice, and, by the time we got back home, I was exhausted, so, Hugh and I chilled on the new furniture until bedtime.

On Sunday, we putzed around the house and hardware store until dinnertime, when we went to Oscar and Emily's for a turkey feast (Emily had a turkey in the freezer and Oscar wanted to get it used up, so they invited us for second Thanksgiving, ha!).

While we were there, Boomer Dog was living his best life with Oscar and Emily's dog, Luke.

He also enjoyed a beer. Why? Well, why the hell not? It's not like it will be the thing that kills him. Besides, see above: Living His Best Life.

Today, I am back at it; I have a golf tournament to get planned as well as an advocacy center to run and, if I get some free time, a bridal shower to plan and a car that is in desperate need of an oil change.

It's going to be a busy week, y'all!

DIY Wildflower Candles

As I've been working on my plan for the rehearsal dinner that Hugh and I will be hosting the night before the wedding, I've been looking into purchasing candles decorated with flowers. Shanti's entire wedding vibe is heavy on wildflowers and; I thought that carrying the theme through on the rehearsal dinner table would be a nice touch.

I looked online for candles that I could purchase and, holy hell, Batman, were they expensive! So, I decided to make my own. While I plan to use mainly taper candles for the dinner, I chose to first attempt the process on larger pillar candles, which, was a wise decision, since it provided more surface area on which to practice.

I gathered my supplies, which included dried, pressed flowers (Amazon), a set of three candles (40% off at Hobby Lobby), tealights (which I already have a plethora of), and a small nylon paintbrush.  

I started by melting a tealight, completely. While the wax was melting, I separated the flowers (they came with a set of angled tweezers, which made handling the delicate flowers a lot easier) and laid them out in a design that I liked.

Then I gently laid them on the candle, dipped the paintbrush in the wax, and carefully brushed the wax over the flowers, making sure to coat them well enough to adhere them to the candle.

I was pleased with the end result, although, there were areas on each candle where I could have been more careful not to leave globs of wax from drips that fell from the paintbrush. I'll be sure to be aware of that when I try the process on the tapers for the rehearsal dinner.

All in all, it was a pretty simple DIY that saved a lot of money and that will have a big impact on the table decor.

10 out of 10, highly recommend.

Recipes From the Porch: Lemon Blueberry Scones With Lemon Glaze

I am a big fan of lemon-flavored pastries; lemon bars, lemon cream pie, lemon poppy seed muffins, lemon bundt cake, you name it. I also really like blueberries, so, it goes without saying that I am a fan of the lemon/blueberry combination.

For Easter brunch this year, I made a batch of lemon blueberry scones and they were a big hit. Hugh, who typically dislikes lemon-flavored treats (psycho), actually enjoyed the scones well enough to snitch mine from my plate. If that's not a recommendation for this recipe, then I don't know what is.

The recipe calls for both butter and buttermilk, neither of which I had on hand. I did, however, have a carton of heavy whipping cream, so I made my own.

Don't think this makes me some sort of homesteader; the process is actually quite simple. Remind me to share it, sometime.

Anyhoodle, on to the recipe!

Ingredients: For the scones

2 C All-purpose flour

1/2 C Sugar

1 TBSP Baking powder

Pinch of kosher salt

4 Ounces (1 stick) unsalted butter, cold and divided into slices or chunks

3/4 C fresh blueberries

Zest of 1 lemon

1 large egg, beaten

1/4 C plus 2 TBSP buttermilk, plus extra for brushing on top of scones 

Ingredients for the Lemon glaze:

1/2 C powdered sugar

1 1/2 TBSP fresh lemon juice

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.

In a large bowl, combine flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt. Using a pastry cutter, blend in butter, until dough forms small pea-sized crumbs. Be careful not to overwork the dough.

Add the blueberries and lemon zest and toss to coat. 

In a separate bowl, whisk together egg and buttermilk. Add to flour mixture, mixing with a fork until dough starts to come together, then with your hands until combined. Again, don't overwork the dough or your scones will resemble hockey pucks, and, not even the flavors of lemon and blueberry can make an edible hockey puck.

Once dough is combined, divide in half and turn out onto a piece of parchment paper. Form the dough into two circles, 3/4- to 1 inch thick. Use a bench scraper or knife to cut each circle into equal-sized triangles and place on parchment-lined baking sheet.

Brush the tops of each scone with buttermilk and bake for 18-22 minutes, or until lightly browned.

Meanwhile, mix powdered sugar and lemon juice to create a thick glaze.

When scones are removed from the oven, allow them to cool completely before drizzling each scone with glaze.

Scones will keep for several days in an airtight container, but you probably won't need to worry about that; these things go fast! Especially if you have lemon-lovers in your life (or, a psycho who says he dislikes lemon while stealing your pastry from your plate).

Boomer Dog's Gotcha Date

Six years ago, today, we met Boomer Dog at the shelter in Hooterville. His shelter name was Captain, but it was obvious to us from the start that he was a Boomerang. I mean, he returned anything that you threw. Anything.

He's still all about the fetch, and, if you asked him, his perfect day would include hours and hours of running after balls. And frisbees. And toys. And empty water bottles. And just about anything else that you could throw.

When we first met Boomer, I was uninterested in getting another dog. Hugh championed his adoption with promises of being his main caretaker and I eventually caved. Little did I know that Boomer dog was merely toying with Hugh; feigning loyalty, obedience, and dedication to the man while secretly harboring a clear intention to be...my dog.

I'd never had a dog before. I mean, I'd had a dog, several, actually (Trooper, Jake, Sheba, sweet Rowdie Dog), but I'd never had a dog; I'd never been the obvious master to any of our canines. Instead, I'd been the Mistress by Default, when Hugh or the kids were unavailable for doing dog chores, or for giving affection or attention.

That all changed with Boomer Dog.

From the moment he crossed the threshold into our home for the first time, he made his intentions clear: I was his human.

He followed me everywhere I went, settled at my feet whenever I sat, listened to-and obeyed-my every command. When Hugh told him to do something, he looked to me for approval. 

When it came to teaching him new tricks, he humored Hugh and the kids, but got down to the actual business of nailing each one with me. I taught him to ring a bell on the door when he wanted to go outside. I taught him to catch treats off the tip of his nose. I taught him to crawl, and to shake hands, and to push a button for treats.

He was already pretty well trained in the basics when we got him; I didn't have to train him to walk/run on a leash, or to sit, or to lay down. He was also already trained to switch sides to put himself between me and people approaching us when we were on a walk, which leads me to believe that-in his previous life-he belonged to a woman.

A lot of things lead me to believe this, actually.

And, while we'll never know who that woman was or what became of her; I'll be forever grateful to her for loving him before me (I truly believe that him ending up in the shelter is indicative of her passing away; I just cannot fathom it being anything else).

I'm also eternally grateful for every moment that I have had with my dog. My Boomer. My Boo-Bear.

I don't know how much time we have left together, and, I don't really care to focus on that. Instead, I'm going to celebrate his Gotcha Day with extra treats, a few games of fetch, and maybe a walk to the park, if the weather allows. If not, we'll take a drive and get a Pup Cup, or, stop by the bank for a biscuit.

Whatever it takes to make hims a happy boy.

Because he has brought us nothing but happiness and he deserves it.

There is Always a Hitch in the Gidyup

The week before last, my dishwasher started leaking, which spurred a trip to the Home Despot, where Hugh and I laid down a fair chunk of change for a new washer, as well as a new fridge.

Did we need the fridge? Technically, no. Was the fridge the exact same age as the dishwasher and, therefore, at risk of failure? Yes, and, maybe. 

Did I want the fancy new fridge with the French doors and ability to make craft ice? Yes. Did I get it because I am a spoiled housewife who gets whatever she wants? Hell, no. I work my ass of and deserve to use that hard-earned money on a new appliance if I so choose.

And I chose the fancy-ass fridge.

Did I regret that decision when it was actually delivered to the house and we discovered that, while it technically fit in the space previously occupied by the old fridge, it was just about a quarter of an inch too tall for the cabinet doors above it to open? Yes, yes I did. But, only for an hour or so, which was the amount of time that it took Hugh to begrudgingly remove the cabinet doors and to plane them down to fit.

Did I congratulate myself on having married a man with skilz? Absolutely.

Thus endeth the Saga of the Fridge.

Now, let's talk about the dishwasher.

The dishwasher was delivered several days ahead of the fridge. Hugh took receipt of the machine and had the deliverymen open the box so that he could make sure there was no visible damage, which, there was not. Hugh then left the dishwasher in the garage for a couple of days, until he had time to install it.

The drama unfolded when, on the day that he went to install it; he opened the door on the front of the washer and water poured out of the door. From the electronics panel.

Apparently, dishwashers are shipped with water in them (from having been tested or some such shit) and are not supposed to be placed on their sides or back. One can only assume that that message got lost somewhere in translation because, clearly, the washer had spent some time in the wrong position for this to have happened. 

Hugh, on the phone with customer service, wishing there was someone he could throat-punch.

Blurry screenshots, taken from the video Hugh took of water cascading from the electronics panel.

Hugh immediately called Home Despot and then spent the better part of two hours on the phone, only to be told that the earliest they could get to us for either repair or replacement would be April 15th. Until then, I would be handwashing dishes. I had ten people coming over for Easter brunch and was, as you may imagine, not happy with this piece of news.

Hugh was incandescent with rage. Like, vibrating in anger. I'm not even kidding.

He finally said "Fuck it; let's let it dry out and see what happens. If it works, great. If it doesn't, you can make like Ma Ingalls on the prairie until the replacement comes".

That's what I heard, anyway.

So, I worked up a lovely pair of dishpan hands Saturday and Sunday morning, while waiting for the machine to dry out. Then, in an Easter miracle, we plugged the sucker in and attempted to run a load of brunch dishes and the damn machine actually worked.

I haven't run it since, but will probably need to in the next day or so. Hopefully, it will continue to work, but, we aren't cancelling the appointment with the repairman just yet.

We're smart like that.

Anyhoodle, it took a hot minute to get us here, but behold! My new, slightly oversized, way overpriced, and anxiety-inducing appliances! 
 

Please, in the name of all that is holy, let them last as long as the appliances they are replacing.

Amen.