The end of summer is here and, just like every end of summer weekend in recent years, I'm hiding from the hundred thousand people who've descended on my little piece of paradise for The Cherokee National Holidays.
I wish they'd go away. I wish they'd take their shiny new cars and tailgating ways back to wherever the hell they're from, and leave me be to putter along at the speed of molasses.
Besides, I have more important things to worry about than maneuvering around burnt to a crisp sweaty folk in 95 degree heat.
For starters:
I. My ancient German Shepherd girl is happy as a lark, but incontinent and barely able to walk and now, on top of everything else, losing weight such that I don't want to take her to the vet because I know the diagnosis won't be pretty and I just want her to have a bit more happiness and peace and quiet and fun before an end I know is coming soon.
I'd rather spend my time fluffing her gorgeous coat and rassling with her over her beloved carrots than dealing with tailgating hyperventilating tourists who omg didn't realize that people lived at the end of this road.
I mean, no offense to you, Touristas from Wherever. Really. But can't you just leave us be without terrorizing us with your shiny new hybrid SUV complete with the latest fashion in New Age Indigenous Musical Sounds obtained from your local shaman riding our ass over that hill you didn't know makes a 45 degree drop without guardrails?
And yes omg we have running water here whodathunk?, but no, although we sympathize with you that you don't have the good sense to stay out of the poison ivy or the biker dudes' pot plants, we really don't want to hear all the ways you're going to help us, no, not even after you've cleared up that rash. Yes, yes, you're all enlightened and shit, and we're so happy you're here. But please: once they release you from the emergency room you were taken to when you passed out at the sight of a 7' snake sunning himself, please, would you just do us one tiny favor? Go away. kkthxbai.
II. And then of course there's the gorgeous student, like some pre-European clan mother with long black hair tied with ribbons and piled a foot high who's passing obscene notes to the male students, all of whom are in full blown 19 year old hormonal overdrive. So I have to do something that no one will be happy about because it means enforcing boundaries, and people with no boundaries always deeply resent their imposition.
But this is a classroom, and across this line, they will not go. Not on my watch.
III. And I have gardens to clean up and regenerate as quickly as possible so I can plant the last rounds of basil and mustard and cilantro and lettuces and chard and potatoes and other yummies for the year.
IV. But I also have a briefcase full of grading and so many students that they're scattered like bowling pins all over the floors and mowing more mowing than I've ever had and hummingbird feeders to fill almost constantly --- but thankfully, no goats, although I'll admit that, on Tuesday, I almost took in those pygmy goats and that darling little blue tick pup.
But not yet.
V. And the counters in my kitchen are still buried beneath the detritus of painting and caulking and plumbing work, meaning I have absolutely no workspace, and I have to switch things out for a winter I know will be here before I know it.
But, not only do I not have the time to clear the counters of their paintbrushes and caulk guns and spackle and razor glue, I don't have time to eat, much less cook. And I certainly don't have time to write this diary. But here I am nonetheless.
So what the hell do I do?
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The First Rule
Do Whatever Is Necessary To Avoid Eating Out
The reasons are simple. Unless you're making $250,000 a year, you can't afford to eat out, especially not three-four-six times a week.
Just as important, 90% of the food available in restaurants and takeout joints and convenience stores will kill you in a very non-Wuthering Heights way, especially if, like me, you're in such a position that you might be tempted to indulge not once a week, not twice, but three-four-six-ten times a week.
Trust me. Do not go there. Your ass will thank you, as will your pancreas, kidneys, arteries and aorta. And brain.
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The Second Rule
Eat A Big Ass Breakfast
I'm talking a big ass waking up early just so I have time to cook eggs from chickens I am personally acquainted with in olive oil with garlic and fresh herbs and tomatoes and tender young mustard leaves and whatever else there is to throw in served with a big dollop of yogurt, accompanied by lots of ::purity alert:: strong freshly roasted freshly ground coffee with freshly ground cinnamon and milk breakfast.
If you're me, this will hold you for four, maybe six hours.
But, if you're me, come four and definitely six hours later, you'd better get some food in you because you still have hours to go of standing in front of a classroom waving your arms about wildly. Which brings us to ...
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The Third Rule
Never Leave Home Without Snacks In Your Purse
Now, for you, a few carrot sticks might be adequate. But not for me. I have to have protein and fat with some carbs. So I carry nuts. I especially like pecans because they're local, so are amazingly fresh and tender and sweet. And I wish I could do walnuts because they're also local - but alas, somehow quitting smoking triggered a walnut allergy in me.
Or I might carry some homemade buckwheat bread in a little baggie, if, by chance, I've invoked ...
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The Fourth Rule
A Bread Machine Is A Busy Person's Friend
Yes, I wish I could give you exact measurements for this. But I can't. But I will tell you ingredients, or at least an approximation of ingredients, as what actually goes into it changes, depending on what's around and what I plan to use it for.
But this should give you some idea:
Buckwheat Bread
Buckwheat - lots of
Sorghum - if you live in Oklahoma or Arkansas, the sorghum from Hilltop is exquisite
Maybe some pumpkin - maybe not - but never more than 1-2 tablespoons
Definitely ground flaxseed
Sunflower seed, if you feel like it
Yogurt made with whole milk
Fruit - except banana (ew) - but tart cherries or blueberries are perfect
Grapeseed oil, if you think it needs more fat (olive oil seriously sux in this)
Lots of cinnamon and grated ginger, and a touch of lemon zest
One egg
Yeast
Maybe a dash of salt, to bring out the flavor - but not too much
Whatever else tickles your fancy
- Put flour into bread machine;
- Add yogurt, and optional pumpkin and grapeseed oil;
- Add nuts, cinnamon, ginger and lemon zest;
- Add fruit;
- Break egg on top;
- Pour sorghum in;
- Add yeast on top of sorghum;
- Set bread machine to the three hour setting;
- Turn on bread machine;
- Go do something else.
About the only hint I have is that it should look moister while mixing than other breads. Otherwise, you end up with a crumbly mess. That's probably because it's buckwheat, not Pillsbury All-Purpose.
And use a tad more yeast. And the egg is good for helping it set up nicely.
Depending on how much of this or that, this can come out anyway you want it, although it will never resemble a sourdough or 7 grain. But you can bring it close to pumpernickel or those wonderful sweet dark breads. In fact, I was making it like a pumpernickel a couple of years ago, but have forgotten how I did it. Raisins perhaps? Or ... ? I don't know and can't remember, although I do recall it happened the first time by accident. Then I looked at recipes for pumpernickel and discovered how I did it, and kept doing it for a while.
This is yummy for mater sammiches or garlic toasts or dipping into a nice savory soup.
But what happens if all else fails?
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The Fifth Rule
Microwaves May Be The Spawn of 5atan But They Can Save You From That Menudo Calling Your Name
That's right. Moi, Ms. Luddite, admits that, for the busy person, a microwave can be a lifesaver in fending off that menudo or, worse: the ribs.
Picture it: you're driving home after a mind numbingly long day, hanging onto the steering wheel for dear life, your blood sugar at record lows, every cell screaming feed me feed me!, all snacks gone, desperate for something - anything - to eat.
Then it appears: your Waterloo. THE FAT BOY CAFE with its dancing burgers and gleeful catfish and hushpuppy horn section handpainted on the front windows and beckoning to you. You already know their chili; it's the tastiest thing going, but guaranteed to kill.
So what do you do?
You focus, man, focus, on the tiny homegrown red and blue potatoes that in mere minutes you'll cut into half and toss into the microwave set to high for four-five minutes and that you'll then crush a garlic clove over and spatter with Bragg Liquid Aminos and olive oil and grind a ton of black pepper on and sprinkle with either fresh basil or fresh thyme or fresh oregano then smoosh all up with a fork.
And that will satisfy your immediate need for something anything, and fast, while giving you that omg it was such a naughty thing to eat feeling, thereby saving you from the menudo, much less the chili, and giving you the strength you need to figure out what to have for dinner.
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And that's ...
... how I make it through excruciatingly long days with no hope of a break and no time to cook a week's worth of meals and stash them in the freezer.
And it keeps me alive. Well, such that it is. Pretty healthy, too.
So. What about you?