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Mmm…

July 18, 2012 in Cooking + Baking, Eating, Watching by Colleen | Permalink

 

A quick and easy cake for summer, with raspberries from our own patch!

 

Raspberry Sponge Cake

2 eggs

1 cup flour

1 t baking powder

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup milk

2 tablespoons butter

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

2/3 cup fresh or frozen raspberries

Glaze

1 cup powdered sugar

milk

1/4 t almond extract

Cake:

Sift flour and baking powder; set aside. Beat eggs in a medium bowl until thick, 3-4 minutes. Gradually add sugar, beating another 4-5 minutes, until very fluffy. Add the almond extract and flour mixture; beat on low until combined.

Heat milk and butter in a small saucepan until butter melts. Add to batter, beating until combined. Pour into a greased 8″ or 9″ square pan. Scatter the berries over the top. I think blueberries would work, too, something light, as they will sink to the bottom, so be sure your pan is greased really well. Bake at 350 for 20-25 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool in pan.

Glaze:

Sift powdered sugar into a small bowl. Add almond extract. Add milk until glaze is thin enough to spread in a layer over the top of the cake, 1-2 tablespoons.

Enjoy!

Oh, and maybe watch the latest from Jim Gaffigan while you eat, because sweet and hilarious are a terrific combination.

…

Happy Birthday, Jef!

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Midday Moonrise Kingdom

June 19, 2012 in Eating, Exploring, Watching by Colleen | Permalink

Have I ever written of my love of Wes Anderson? I don’t remember, but it really seems like I should have, for the man can do no wrong in my eyes, at least in all things cinematic and concerning the wearing of suits. I know not a whit about his personal life, which suits me fine. However, should he ever invite me to tea or whiskey to find out, you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be there, with bells ON. The king of corduroy has a new movie out, and I’ve been eagerly awaiting its arrival since I saw the trailer months ago, which seemed more like ages. I don’t know that I’ve ever anticipated a film’s arrival more than this. Proof, perhaps, that this gal needs to get out more often, or that, as previously stated, I am a rather big fan of his fil-ums. Moonrise Kingdom finally came to Portland two weeks ago, but we were ever so busy doing a whole weekend’s worth of yard work that made me far too tired to go, which made me a bit sad, too, but I recovered. I am an adult and can survive disappointments.

This past weekend, however, there were no projects on the books and stellar weather, so we headed out for a long and leisurely day. We started at Pacific Pie CO for lunch, our first and definitely not our last time there. It has swell decor, very good service, and the aforementioned pie. I love pie, sweet or savory. They have both, but we only partook of the savory because our bellies were full up. Tooting my own horn here, they have the best pie crust I’ve ever had next to my own, which is damn good. It is light and buttery and super tender. I had the beef and mushroom with a side of broccoli (did you get that Mom? I ordered broccoli. What is happening to me?!) and the hubster had the lamb with spicy coleslaw. Both were happily devoured in short order and promises made to come back for the cherry and the creamy chicken. In that order, I think. Why the hell not?

Oh, I am sassy today! After the pie, we crossed the river and loafed around before show time, taking in the Oregon History Museum on free day, because everything is better when it is free. It is an interesting assortment of curiosities, as you can see, though I was certainly most jazzed by the architectural models on display, this one being Pietro Belluschi’s house (he also designed the Portland Art Museum and the Commonwealth Building, in which I once worked) and the letter from Ansel Adams. Shazam, that is pretty awesome letterhead, which made the hubster and I decide that we need our own. One day, when we have more time, we’ll head up to the fourth floor and see if our house has any interesting history of its own, present occupants excluded, of course.

The fil-um did not disappoint, though I never had a doubt. It was Wes Anderson, through and through, with a nod or two to Francis Ford Coppola (his son Roman was co-writer), with wounded oddballs and misfit characters occupying idyllic homes (ah, the Bishop house!) in picturesque landscapes. They stumble through life, encountering both the vicious and the tender kind, searching for people with whom to share their pain and great capacity for love. They are impeccably dressed and coiffed, a bit wild, and make this viewer cry, though not nearly half as much as they make me laugh out loud.

We’re at the Central Library now. Isn’t it beautiful? We roamed the stacks a bit and checked out a couple of neat-o architecture books with great pictures. I don’t suppose we ever outgrow a good picture book, do we? I sure haven’t.

More downtown gorgeousness before we get back to the car. I love the clouds in this one.

When we got home, we hung out on the patio, talked about the movie, perused our books, and the hubster and cats took a nap while I watched and occupied my mind with random thoughts.

It got cool, and the mosquitoes started buzzing, so we came inside and cuddled on the sofa before doing some more reading. We’ve started The Game of Thrones, taking turns reading aloud to each other, which is fun, and we are both enjoying, for the most part. I am definitely not the primary audience for this series, as I am neither a fan of explicit sex or graphic violence. This has both, but not too much, for now, at least.

A perfect day in our own little Moonrise Kingdom.

 

 

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Youthful Drowning

April 20, 2012 in Spotlighting, Watching by Colleen | Permalink

Starting with a digression. Milo is snoring like that cartoon character of childhood, blowing a feather up off his lips, again and again, more like a machine decompressing than a true snore. I think he learned it from the hubster, lying prostrate on his chest, paws curled in the sweetest heart shape, cataloging his every move. Though the pair is quite capable of sawing gigantic logs, as well. Last night, as a matter of fact, the the G-Man was roaring something fierce, and I tickled him on that soft spot near the hollow of his hip bone, and his body leapt, utterly and completely shaking the bed. I laughed and told him everything was alright before the pair of us drifted off, though who knows where. I have only echoes of those dreams.

I realized that it had been a while since I told you about movies, so here we are, despite the fairly steady stream I watch. I wonder if Netflix has a little widget like the Goodreads one? It would be nice to always have them there, quiet and patiently waiting for a click. Do you look at them, the books I read? That last one was a goodie, Autobiography of Red, still wrapping my brain around it.

Anyhoo, to fil-ums, these are coming-of-age stories, magnifying those painful bits we all go through in one way or another.

Submarine takes place in Wales during the eighties and follows Oliver Tate, as he navigates the waters of his first love with Jordana, a girl with a lot of extra-curricular problems and a wicked sense of humor.  Although his life isn’t without complications. He is awkward and nerdy, with few friends, and suffering at home, too, through his parents faltering marriage. His father is inept and clueless, while his mother contemplates an affair with an old lover, a pseudo-ninja, self-help guru with a bad mullet. It is comical and sad and hopeful, too, punctuated by a great soundtrack and unusually great narration. Proof that first love matters, always.

Oh dear, this is a toughie, to tell it straight. I did a whole LOTTA tonglen during this one, dear readers, the hubster looking over at me, tears streaming, but breath a-flowing. From the novel of the same name, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints follows Dito as a youth and an adult through some pretty rough experiences. This is a memoir made of composites of people the author/director knew growing up. His parents, deeply in love with their son, but rife with their own problems. His own first love and the coarse ways between them, yet tender, too. His best friends, on the cusp of insanity, hopelessly tethered to violent homes and surroundings, drinking and drug use, the infinite love and jealousy that can never be spoken, and the one who sees it all with enough clarity to know that they will be the end of him if he doesn’t make his own way, apart from them. A heartbreaker.

Chris Waitt has an interesting way with women. They dump him. One by one, again and again. He sees this as a problem and decides to make a documentary in which he seeks out his ex-girlfriends to ask them what happened. After a bit, it becomes obvious to everyone but Chris, though, bless his heart, he plods on, ever determined to get to the root cause. And he does, in his own way, with a little bit of everything, including help from his dear Mum, S & M, getting arrested, and being verbally abused by more than one ex. Hilarious one minute and tear-filled the next, watch how a grown boy becomes a man, for all the world to see.

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Jiving

March 9, 2012 in Listening, Reading, Shopping, Spotlighting, Watching by Colleen | Permalink

Some ever so random bits and bobs for you today. My mind is a wandering one. Its oft preferred state, which, after some overly obsessive and incredibly tiresome thinking suits me fine. Uh-huh.

First, a little more leg than I anticipated, but whatever. Call me a slut, but my neighbor beat you to the punch on whore. Because if a little leg, using birth control before having my internal lady parts removed (read about it here: 1, 2, 3, 4) , and enjoying sex with my husband make me one, I say, in for a penny, in for a pound. Anyhoo, the socks beg to be seen! They are from Gumball Poodle (oddly, I bought mine at New Seasons) and are perfect for roller skating, even when hidden under cropped pants, with many other neat-o options. Meat, anyone? Beer? Bacon?

Second, a little listening. Do you know about Poking Smot? I must say that I, in no way or shape, like this moniker. Really? That’s the best you got? Well, I shall forgive you because your website is so freakin’ awesome that it nearly makes my head spin. Music, so very much music: new, old, jazzy, synthy, rocky, poppy (currently jiving and toe tapping to Sandy Bull’s “Blend”). Merde et zut alors! This place could be the site of my downfall. I’ll just listen to one more song and be on my way, oh and another, but wait, they’ve got that? Down for the count peeps, d-o-w-n!

Third, a little reading. This is a shout out for local writer K.B. Dixon who sent me a copy of his book, The Photo Album. It is a very quirky, Colleen-style tale. A warm breeze of an afternoon read and well worth the time, it’s an imaginary photo album (hence the title) with captions. What was happening there? What was intended? What don’t we see? Filled with details of places I love and very much home. It made me think, laugh, and sigh with wonder.

Fourth, a little watching. And contrast. First, another one of my man-crushes, Zach Galifianiakis (I’m not kidding), in a supporting role (with Jason Schwartzman and Ted Danson – a fine trio if ever there was) in a truly awesome and also very Colleen-style comedy series, Bored to Death. I think I’ve mentioned this bit of kooky before, but dang, do I love it so. The hubster can’t get enough of it either, I might add. We laugh until we cry and always want more. Luckily we’ve got DVD number two waiting for us to-night. It’s on, bitches! (Just for you, Amber)

Now to the contrast, The Yellow Handkerchief. It follows Brett (William Hurt) after his release from prison, searching for a new hold on life and remembering May (Maria Bellow), the love he left behind. Then there is Martine (Kristen Stewart) and Gordy (handsome Eddie Redmayne), young and inexperienced, escaping home, awkward and yearning for a connection, to no longer be outsiders and first forgotten. They travel in Gordy’s car, through the post Katrina aftermath, taking ill used highways and discovering unexpected places, especially within themselves. Sweet and sad and happy.

Fifth, a little love, for you, sweet readers, and Friday. Have a tip-top, hat’s-off, groove-on weekend!

Compassion

February 13, 2012 in Being, Thinking, Watching by Colleen | Permalink

A few weeks ago, I was walking downtown when a young homeless guy seated under a tree was asking passers-by if he was really there. “Do I exist? Do you see me?” As far as I could tell, no one acknowledged him. I was in the right mood, smiled, nodded, and said, “Yes,” as I carried on. He hollered, rather cheerfully, “Thank you for the beautiful smile!” at my back.

The exchange reminded me of a book I read probably ten years ago, Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman, in which a man saves the life of a street urchin and enters the shady world of the underground, where his mere act of acknowledging her presence obliterated him from the sight of most Londoners. It further got me thinking about my own behavior. I do not always see the homeless man because that would make me…complicit, responsible, disappear into his world? If I don’t see it, I can protect myself. That pain there, that violence, that poverty, with eyes averted, I will not feel it. It or he or she will not touch me, will not become an albatross about my neck. I can move on with a wink and a smile, as if it never happened.

Then, a couple of nights ago, I was reading the work of Pema Chodron (yup, still at it), and she said, “Compassion practice…involves learning to relax and allowing ourselves to move gently toward what scares us. The trick to doing this is to stay with emotional distress without tightening into aversion.”

Well, shit, that’s exactly my modus operandi. Going to scary places, especially my own, feeling reviled, fleeing or shutting down. The truth is, life is ugly and difficult sometimes, even when it is so very grand, those mountains and molehills that appear out of the ether. What to do? As Supertramp would say, “Take the long way home.”

So I did, in my very Colleen way. I took a meandering path through the pain of others’ lives to get me closer to tackling my own and the everyday, trembling with fear, but without aversion. I watched a fil-um I thought I never ever would, never ever could, Hunger, with my man-crush Michael Fassbender. It details the conditions at Long Kesh prison and the last days of Bobby Sands. Good god friends, it was horrible. Ugly, cruel, vicious, and incredibly sad, no matter which side you take, and I will do no such thing. That was not my intention.

My point was to take it all in, not avert my eyes, as much and as often as I sincerely wished it, and breath it in and out, steady and even. And I did, through the fear of car bombs, men being beaten to within an inch of their lives, violently shot, and the hunger and waste of a beautiful man’s body. I breathed and sighed and wept and opened my heart w i d e.

I did it and can do it with whatever wretched refuse I encounter. The trick now is to remember and have patience.

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