Dressing up by Lulu

Not long ago, on some chilly morning, I went to get Lulu out of her room. She was already wearing a light pink confection with seed pearls and chiffon overlay, pairing the dress with silver sparkle shoes. It was 43 degrees outside. She would not be dissuaded.

She wore that dress to breakfast and during play time. She wore it to Costco, but only after I wrestled a sweater onto her. I could only get her to take it off after she spilled chili down the front of the dress at dinner. The girl needs dress-ups, doesn't she? My bad.

I think I forgot about dress-ups.

My MIL sent Lulu a Halloween costume. It's Tinkerbelle. Lulu didn't know what it was, but she wanted it on immediately. She has worn it every day since. Her usual M.O. is to get up before I check in on her, remove her PJs, change herself, and put on the dress (wings optional, bell shoes not,) and wait until I open then door. She will spend all day in that thing. We run errands and pick up the mail as Tinkerbelle.

Sometimes we even sleep in it.

"DANCE WITH ME, PROXIMO," she screams at her brother, grabbing his hands and forcing them to twirl her around until she falls down. "I'M PRETTY and FANCY," she informs you, "LOOK AT ME TWIRL, I SAID LOOK AT ME." It's all at one volume (11) and completely mandatory. In that vein, I present to you...

Lulu's Fashion Rules:

• No jeans. Don't even bring them in front of her face, you jerk
• Dresses need leggings underneath
• No leggings? Your butt better find some before she cuts you
• Those shoes better have sparkles on them or you might as well stuff them down your throat
• Is it pink? It had better be pink or there will be hell to pay
• Ankle socks are better as knee highs, without exception
• She gets to pick her elastic colors, or you can choke on those elastics
• Don't even think about leaving the house without sandals
• Pink adidas will work, in a pinch
• If it has tulle, it goes on immediately
• If it's on backwards, it's supposed to be that way, and it looks a crapload better that way, duh

Her rules might be even more stringent than my no flip-flops rule.

I don't know if I can live under this fashion dictatorship...although I suspect I have it coming.

Cjane's Vlog

Hey Jet Setters,

You can catch me today over at Cjane's on her vlog. We have serious stuff to say. We don't try to hide it at all. We're dealing with it right out in the open.

Note to Self: Next time you're on Cjane's vlog, sit up straight and don't point your chin up so your neck doesn't look ginormous. Like Tyra says, you have to know your angles so you can work them.

Oh How I Need You

The trouble with being a true extrovert is that you really need other people to keep your sanity and perspective. If I start to sink into the morass, J knows to send me out to be with people. Just as an introvert needs to be alone to recharge, I need company and conversation to ease my spirit.

I need you, in other words.

I was discussing this personality bent with Courtney; she who is, despite all evidence to the contrary, an introvert. I have a lot of friends who are introverts, and I married one to boot. I’ve grown to understand that they need to be alone, to cut me and the rest of the world off, that they crave this as much as I crave the communal. Too many days and gatherings take an emotional toll; they retreat into the salve of solitude.

The older I get the more I also need that solitude, but on my own terms and with finite boundaries. In truth, when I start to retreat too much, and I’ve recently felt the inclination, that’s when I need to reach out and be out more--or I sink deeper.

So I met Anne for breakfast and a needed connection. She leaned over a white table cloth, the remains of french toast and home fries closing our distance, smiled her sparest Anne smile and said, “The older I get the more I realize that my friends are the family that I choose.” I thought back to the day we met, during PE in junior high. The bus stop. A thousand parties. All the New Year’s Eves.
“That’s the thing,” I said, “We’ll always be friends.”
“And I apologize,” she said, “That I haven’t been around.”
“There’s no need.”
“Yes, there is, because you are the family that I choose.”

On a recent afternoon at the pool, I ran into one of my former professors (Women’s History and Civil Rights History.) We gave the kid age and gender rundown, since mothers must share those most crucial heart-based facts first. I asked her opinion about The Help. I remembered her discourse on pioneer and immigrant women. “It was a tremendous sacrifice for them, more than most realize, because women need other women. They left their homes, and yes the comforts of civilization, but more than that, they left their networks: their mothers, sisters, cousins and friends, probably to never see them again. Left their people to live often isolated frontier lives.”

I thought of that truth over the breakfast as Anne contemplated a life a thousand miles away.

People come into our lives because they are supposed to: the million coincidences, the friend of a friend, the providential entrances, the chance reunion. Introverts or extroverts, women need each other.

Just like I need you.

Parables and Allegories

Do you ever wonder if there was someone in the audience during the Allegory of the Olive Tree who leaned over to their friend and said, "But, I don't even like olives."

"I'm confused," said another, "Is this about the gentiles? I just wish they'd say 'gentiles' instead of branches."

And then another friend said, "I wish they'd choose one side or another--is this about the House of Israel or the gentiles? How does grafting even apply?"
"Yeah," one responded, "I'm sick of people talking about gentiles."

Someone else whispered, "I'm pretty sure they're supposed to graft during the fall months, have they talked about that? It's important that grafting happens in cool weather."

"Is there good soil under that tree? Did they water the trees enough? They should really do a better job of cleaning up that vineyard because it sounds messy."

"House of Israel? Do they mean an actual house? Because I love houses that have brick mixed with clapboard."

"A house is not the same as a tree; this is such a stupid analogy."

"This doesn't apply to me because I'm a weaver."

"Vineyard? This sounds like an orchard, can they just call it what it is?"

"Olive oil is healthy! I think we should use more of it!"

"If gentiles join the House of Israel I'm going to be seriously pissed!"



Now that I think about it, it's a wonder that the storyteller ever completed his allegory.

Chocodile Charlotte Birthday Cake

Let's nip this thing in the bud: I made up the Chocodile Charlotte because cjane asked me to.

It's kind of our thing; she asks me to do something and then I do it.

(She does my dishes in return, so we might have a good thing going.)

photo from cjane

A charlotte is a dessert where a pan is lined with some type of cake slices, a stabilized cream of some sort is poured into the center, and the whole thing is refrigerated until set.

Here's how we made the charlotte:

(Please forgive me for any omissions or errors since I didn't take precise measurements, I just put it together until it looked right. Use your good baking/cooking judgement at all times and keep your hands to yourself.)

10" springform pan

16 Chocodiles

Bavarian Cream:

2 cups milk

1 vanilla bean

6 egg yolks

Dash salt

2/3 c. sugar

1 tsp unflavored gelatin (I think, it was most of a little packet of gelatin)

Bring the milk up to a boil (do not let it scorch!) and add the split vanilla bean and salt. Remove from heat and cover, steep for 10 minutes, strain out the bean. Beat the yolks with the sugar until a thick ribbon forms. Add the milk gradually until combined, pour back into pot and stir over medium heat until thick and ALMOST boiling (DO NOT BOIL.) Bloom the gelatin (sprinkle over a couple tablespoons of water and let stand for a few minutes, heat in micro for 20-30 seconds until melted) and add to still warm cream. Cool cream slowly by pouring into a bowl set over an ice bath and whisk.

Chantilly:

2 cups heavy whipping cream

1/2 c powdered sugar

1/2 tsp vanilla

1.5 tsp gelatin (most of another packet of gelatin,) bloomed

Beat all ingredients in a stand mixer until stiff peaks form.

Chocolate Ganache:

Good quality chocolate (we used a mix of a Lindt milk chocolate bar and semi-sweet chocolate chips)

Equal amount of cream to chocolate by weight

Heat the cream and add chopped chocolate. Stir until thoroughly melted, refrigerate until thick but still pourable (an hour or two.)

To assemble:

Slice three or four Chocodiles horizontally into at least halves, thirds would be best. This will be messy. Probably easier to freeze them a little at first. Line the springform pan bottom with parchment. Also cut a 7" strip that will fit around the springform like a collar, taping in place if you need. Lay the strips of cut Chocodiles, chocolate side down, in the bottom of the pan. Cut a little off the end 12 Chocodiles (so they have a flat bottom) and set them vertically around the pan. If you're feeling fancy, you can brush some of the ganache around the Chocodiles to seal the edges and pour some into the bottom to coat.

Gently fold the Bavarian into the Chantilly. Fill the prepared Chocodile-lined pan with the cream, spooning in the ganache to create layers. Drop a few drizzles of ganache on the very top of the cream and drag a sharp knife to marble the top. Refrigerate for 4-6 hours until completely set.

To serve: release the springform ring, remove the paper, tie with a ribbon, cut into wedges.

Seashell Mermaid Cake

Courtney called me two weeks ago and asked if I would make our friend Wendy a birthday cake. "What kind of cake did you have in mind?" I asked. "A mermaid cake, I think," she answered. I thought about the idea for a while and came up with something that I thought might give the feeling of a mermaid cake without being quite so literal. (Maybe it could still be a just little extravagant.) 

 

A sea blue (nearly Tiffany blue) cake covered with sea shells and sea things.

I started by hand-making the sea creatures out of gum paste. I left them to dry overnight, and the next day I hand-painted and decorated them. I love this part of the project! Making all these things out of my imagination, trying to make them beautiful and realistic at the same time. Oh, right, and edible too, haha!

 

Starfish, sea urchins, shells, sand dollars, oysters, sea weed, snails, and pearls! All made with gum paste or fondant, colored with edible pearl dust and royal icing to finish the details. Oh, and my first rule of cake making is that if it doesn't taste good, nothing else matters. Take your nasty cake and go home--this tasty cake got to go to the party. Midnight chocolate cake with mint chocolate ganache filling. Yes, please.

   

I think it turned out beautifully, don't you?

 

Even though the cake was for her birthday, Wendy kept joking that she was going to put it in the fridge for her upcoming wedding.

 

I think she liked it. Especially the "W" for Wendy on top.

Hi It's My Birthday Hi (It's Becoming an Institution Around Here)

Dear Loves,

It's my birthday! The last day of April, the beginning of Spring, a final blizzard hug of Winter! No really, I was driven home very early this morning in a blizzard. Can you imagine? Snow flurries for the last two whole days of April. But let's reverse, and set the scene at early yesterday evening.

I was tucked into the front seat rocketing up the canyon while Susie confided in me her absolute distaste for this late-winter linger. "I should be in shorts," she insisted.
"You can wear shorts if you want to," I said, pointing out the obvious.
"I mean comfortably. Comfortably wear shorts," she clarified, her midwestern brow slightly drawn in consternation. We were on our way through the foggy canyons for a no holds barred night out. Tiffany arranged a Rock Star Birthday Party (another institution around here) and insisted on dinner in Park City with karaoke to immediately follow.

Oh, shoot, karaoke? Don't mind if I do.

My friends know how to party. We party so hard people think we're drunk. Nope, stone cold sober. Never had one lesson. Or one drink. Anne and Katrice, Laura and Susie, Tiffany and me. We ate like carnivores and washed it down with carbs. Too many sodas (I'm a social drinker) and the abandonment of restraint makes for a smashing evening.

We claimed the leather sectional in the basement bar and commandeered the song books: Journey, Heart, Justin Timberlake, The Killers, Rihanna, I may have sung them all. Plus Laura and I rocked them like a hurricane. And there was the Fall Out Boy incident of 10:34pm. We might need to discuss when Laura Got Back. And when Susie Shot Through Your Heart. Myleka and Anne were Dancing Queens. And Tiffany sang Tiffany.

And I? I was properly feted by all the crew. Our bartender gave us all plastic leis so that he could make that most overdone of puns. I'm pretty sure Tiffany showed us that you can take the girl out of Texas when she crooned some honky-tonky down-home country, and maybe even a boot-scootin' boogie. What can be said of our two new friends who were consuming alcoholic units yet they couldn't be tempted to hit the stage? I say it proves caffeine's mind-altering superiority over whiskey, at least in this focus group.

Laura, who must be invited to every karaoke party ever, even yours, even if you don't know her, owned the night. You can't stop her, she's a force of nature. I took requests and another sip of soda. Time to make my own request. "Oh please," I begged Susie, "Next year, you must put on a proper Derby party."
She, raised across the river from Churchhill Downs, nodded thoughtfully. I hoped it was a yes. The Derby is tomorrow, darlings, tune in to see those ponies fly. Next year? Juleps and hats. (Maybe even Dover.)

(But definitely more parties.)

For my birthday I want to hear the song you'd sing if you went to karaoke, don't be shy, and don't lie and tell me you wouldn't sing. Pretend you've already had your whiskey, your Diet Coke, your courage-enabling sugar high, and drop that track in a comment.

In case you missed it, cjane commissioned a post from me. Only three people took it seriously! (some sort of record in cjaneland, I'm sure.) And I'm serious about this tom-foolery, I assure you! Serious like a hangnail!

How to Eat Almejas

When I was little and spending the summer in Spain we would scamper down the hillside, passing the goats next door on our way to the beach. On sections of rock steps we would avoid the giant snails crawling down the wall, they loved the heat and humidity like we did. I'd cross the sand a quickly as possible and smash my toes in the ocean. When I found my courage I'd dive into the breakers. I'd swim and swim, feet hitting the seaweed, and when I ducked my head under water, I could see the sardines swimming. They'd flash silver underwater, trying to avoid a break in their school.

Later we'd walk down the bay and buy a huge net bag of clams from the fishermen and walk them back to the house. The clams would steam with broth, garlic, a touch of tomato, bay leaf, smoky paprika, and saffron (almejas al estilo marinero.) We'd eat ourselves silly on the briny taste.

My hypothetical last meal always includes a bowl of clams in a white broth, sometimes with linguine, sometimes with baguette. Nothing comes close to scooping out the clams and slurping the broth, dribbling down, down, down your chin, your elbows.

On a regular milk run to Costco I spied a tray of live, wild cockles. I tapped one on his head, maybe it was his back (what if it was his arm?) and he closed with a snap. I couldn't help it, we had to have clams tonight.

And if you're going to have once-in-a-blue moon clams, you have to use the beautiful china.

We really liked clams. And the linguine. Did you know that you can use the shells to catch and sip the broth? Toys and food, it's better than a happy meal. I use one half of the shell to dig out the clam from the other side for the little one, placing it back into the linguine and slightly touching the broth.

You can use your clam to catch your brother's fork. Maybe even give your brother a nip.

After you've scooped out every clam, and put their shells in another bowl, you can take the empty shells and move them back, one by one, into your very own bowl. Must let them go with a satisfying clink.


Clams in White Sauce

1-2 pounds of Clams
1/4 cup cornmeal

1 large shallot, minced
1 cup chicken broth, white wine, or a mixture of both
1/4 c. olive oil
Pinch of red pepper flakes
1 cup loosely packed minced flat leaf parsley, give or take, chopped

Half a box of linguine pasta (about 8 ounces)
Lemon slices (optional)

1 hour before cooking clean the clams. Rinse them off, scrub if necessary. Fill a wide container with cold water and place clams inside, trying not to have more than 2 layers. Sprinkle cornmeal over the water and give it a stir. Set the clams aside in the fridge for at least 1/2 an hour, you can leave them for longer, even 8 hours. The clams ingest the cornmeal and spit it out, carrying any grit or dirt with it. Lift each clam out of the water and put in a colander. Discard the water and cornmeal. As you go, tap any open clams with your finger nail. If they don't close, toss the clam, it's dead. Rinse the clams under cool water.

Cook the linguine in plenty of salted water until al dente. Drain, reserve some of the pasta liquid.
Put a saucepan on the stove over medium heat. Add oil, then shallots. Saute the shallots until translucent. Add the broth to pan and add the clams. Cover and steam for 5 minutes. The clams will open and release their juices. Remove the pan from the heat, discard any clams that didn't open, and add more than half the parsley and the flakes. Add a little pasta water as needed.
Put the linguine in the bowls, spoon the clams and broth on the pasta, and then sprinkle with remaining parsley. DIG IN.


By the way, if anyone ever tries to serve you clams in a white sauce that is actually white, like a gravy or a soup, and put it over pasta, RUN AWAY. They don't know what they're doing. If you have business dealings with them, re-evaluate. If they watch your children, be afraid.

A Humble Nomination

Abdul Rejected 30% Raise, Will be Replaced

NEW YORK - Fox nearly slammed the door on Paula Abdul’s return to “American Idol” — but not quite. “We made an offer we feel is very fair to Paula” that included a substantial raise, Fox Entertainment Chairman Peter Rice told the Television Critics Association on Wednesday.

But Abdul decided against returning for the hit singing contest’s ninth season, he said...

The offer is for a multiyear, eight-figure deal that represents a 30 percent increase for Abdul, according to a person familiar with the talks. The person, who was not authorized to speak publicly, asked not to be identified.

Rice said the network is saddened by Abdul’s decision but looks forward to finding a permanent replacement for her who could bring a new dynamic to the show.

Source

Dear Fox/Executive Producer Simon Fuller,

I will seal clap for you for less than eight figures.

I'd seal clap for seven, even the high sixes.

In fact, I'd like to nominate myself to fill that judge on the American Idol panel. Here are my qualifications:


1. My friend Jennie gave me Paula Abdul's Forever Your Girl in the 7th grade. I wore that tape out.

2. Although I have not appeared with an animated cat in any type of video, I have watched all the Keyboard Cats and feel that my cinematic feline experience is higher than the average person's cinematic feline experience. You should look into having Keyboard Cat play rejected people off (you can take that idea and run with it. You're welcome.)

3. I will wear whatever nut-bag outfit you want. I'd even wear flip flops.

4. I get out of my chair and dance frequently. "Dance like no one is watching thing"? No, thanks! I always know people are watching and I'm OK with that. I can also raise one hand in the air as I dance to give the vague effect of raising the roof or acting like I just don't care.

5. I don't have choreographic experience, but I bet Mia Michaels would give me lessons (I hope she doesn't cut me.)

6. I am usually relatively coherent, but I can pretend not to be. I might have to subside on less sleep than I get now (difficult, but not impossible.)

7. While I'm not usually an understanding person when it comes to poor musical performances, I can tone down the honesty and tune up the blind and unreasonable encouragement.



In return,

1. I'm not sure what you're used to putting in that giant Coke cup on the judges' table, but I'd request actual Coca-Cola, not cocaine, and preferably Diet Coke. This also gives you a chance to return those 14 cases of Robitussin!

2. I could ask my friend Courtney to come sing. Trust me, you want that to happen.

3. I promise not to do a reality show for Bravo (but if Rachel Zoe calls and asks me to be on her show I would DIE and say YES, because that would be BANANAS.)

4. I would make it a priority to tease Simon in a way that he would find frustrating and yet ratchet up that English charm. I'd also boo him, if you wanted. Or I could, for a turn, actually listen to him and agree since he's usually right.

5. I would never, not ever, critique a performance that had not happened yet, unless that's what you wanted, in which case, DONE.

6. You've heard of Twitter? I'd totes live tweet my judging panel because I know that everyone loves a live tweet. Plus, extra publicity for you on the hot social network Twitter (it has to be hot, Oprah uses it!)

7. I'd like to keep my Google phone instead of having to use AT&T. I broke up with AT&T a couple of years ago, it was kind of messy, but I'm open to negotiating this point.

Call me!


-Azucar

Plagiarizer Removed

Thanks to your considerable research and efforts, Miss Musing and her blog were removed from Blogger for violating the terms of service agreement. Special thanks to Velveteen Mind for her gumption. Miss Musing's twitter account (@missmusing) has also been deleted.

My favorite plagiarized post was the one where Miss Musing wrote about a girl's night out that just so happened to be my birthday celebration two years ago in Park City. I have to tell you, that one made me laugh and laugh. (In case you've arrived here wondering what happened to Miss Musing's blog, you can read about it here.) I got to read several of her plagiarized posts by subscribing to her blog feed (heads up, once you've published an entry, the feed doesn't go away even if you delete the post. That's how I've read even more plagiarized posts--proving that this was not an isolated mistake, but a pattern of thievery.) How about her Prompt Me post and I quote,

"Ignoring promptings has proven to be a sublime survival tactic"

which was posted on 2/13/2009 and is really this post? The post she titled "That Sinking Feeling" 2/20/2009 is really this one called Sink Me.

I hope she takes this lesson and makes better choices going forward, including leaving Scarlet Pimpernel references intact.

In honor of Miss Musing and her style of blogging, I'd like to plagiarize my friend La Yen's blog by writing about the daughter I don't have and changing a few details to make it seem like I wrote it:


So, I made Jooj a dress. I have never made a dress before. It is quite unfortunate (the dress, not the fact that it has never been made.) I, Azucar, have made many dresses before and the dress I pretend made for Jooj is really awesome.

During the dress debacle I thought about the whole "serious scholarly people who blog" vs. "me." And I think that there are a few reasons why my blog is neither profound nor intelligent nor free from references to poop:

1. Days of Our Lives. I am pretty sure Ayn Rand didn't watch the soaps. She was too busy being smart and philosophical. But wouldn't Anthem be better if it had a villian who wore an eye patch or a heroine who always had on just too much lipgloss? Yes it would have been.

2. I don't know that many words.

The end. OR IS IT?

CTRL + C, CTRL + V

I can’t stand plagiarism; it’s annoying and lazy. Not to mention that plagiarism increases the chances that I'll re-read something I've already read--which is unacceptable. I'm busy! No time to re-read! That’s why when it came to my attention that yet another person was ripping off my friend cjane, I decided to write this little post.

First of all, if you’re going to plagiarize someone, don’t make it one of the most well known people in the blogosphere—especially if your audience might have a lot of overlap with the more popular blogger.

Second of all, if you’re going to plagiarize someone, don’t, because it’s incredible stupid and you’ll always be found out.

If you don’t have anything to write about that day, your first line of defense shouldn’t be “I’m going to go and take someone else’s content.” If you’re having trouble writing, try an exercise, like writing about a topic, say, plagiarism. I’ll even give you a specific topic: What would happen if I were to rip off one of the best-known bloggers in the United States and everyone found out?

I didn’t get to see the post that she apparently copied nearly word for word, but I did find another example on her blog, like this one:

click to enlarge. I'd link back, but the original has been deleted.

Know how I know those "2 types of people" is not your idea, Miss Musing? You were 18, possibly 19, when cjane wrote that blog post and I find it hard to believe that any 18, possibly 19-year-old has that kind of perspective (my 18-ish-year-old perspective was really wrapped up in hoping I’d get tickets to the Downward Spiral Tour and showing up looking really cute for my Honors 200 course and the red-headed Canadian boy who sat next to me.) I was also in Courtney’s kitchen around the genesis of her idea and we have deeply discussed this topic over several years. I was able to place your paragraph within one whole second to this post:

The whole debacle is ridiculous. What’s worse? The plagiarism is merely a tool to build her reputation and capture her audience’s esteem. What’s even worse? She’s been contacted by a publishing company to possibly contribute to a book. Her plagiarism isn’t about what else she could add to the topic, or style, it is simple self-aggrandizement. And it’s frakking lazy.

Then we get to something really amusing:

click to enlarge. source also appears to have been deleted.

Yes, as you can see, this person had their own plagiarism issue with another blogger. Yet, after it happened to her, she plagiarized cjane at least twice. Oh, how delicious! Like rain on your wedding day! A free ride when you’ve already paid! Wait a minute…




UPDATE:

I found the original text to her plagiarized post:

"In the last of the sun, the Boyfriend and I took an evening walk. As the puppies navigated our way through the wide roads of our neighborhood, we quickly discovered that our evening activity proved unoriginal as we were greeted by neighbors who had the same idea.

"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Stamps," I said, passing an older couple. Having spent my childhood in this same neighborhood, I tend to know many of the home owners. The Boyfriend is always eager to make connections, so this leaves the him to rely on me for first-hand knowledge of background information as it pertains to our neighborhood history.

"Mr. Stamps is an Egyptologist and spent years working on the Theban Mapping Project at the American University in Cairo. Mrs. Stamps is a mother of five (doesn't she look so young?) and a painter. In fact, you admired her painting at the local gallery last time we were there."

The Boyfriend always listens, ear-tipped, as I talk under my breath. I wouldn't want our passing neighbors to know that I'm inclined to spill their personal resume to those within earshot.

We passed a Victorian home with a white picked fence outside.

"This is Mrs. Cronin's home." I pointed with my elbow (hands inside my coat pocket). "She was my first piano teacher."

We encountered houses with tangible memories spilling out the windows and doors. Homes of immaculate facades waiting to bloom with spring's floral offerings. We greet more neighbors who require my back-hand introductions.

"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Andover, " we all nod in salutation.

"Mr. Andover used to be the town mayor and Mrs. Andover volunteers as president of the Neighborhood Beautification Committee..." My voice like a spy.

"In fact, she helped me plant our garden this year. Now that the tulips are in bloom I really ought to invite her over for lunch and to see the garden."

As we rounded the corner home, we spotted a couple coming toward us.

"Hello." I said.

From my lack of words that followed, it became clear that I did not know them.


"That is Dr. and Mrs. Anderson." The Boyfriend returned the favor, matching my tone as we headed up the sidewalk. "He is a law school professor and she's a concert cellist..."

"Well played," I commended the Boyfriend."

You can read cjane's original here.

UPDATE to the update here.

Cjane: Patron Saint of the Bloggernacle

When an amazing baked good must be had, there's only one recourse: an appeal to the patron saint of the Bloggernacle: cjane.

It's not the first time an appeal was made; I had to deliver cookies to Our Lady of Southwest Provo, Amelie, Protector Of Us All, at least a dozen times.

There were even times when more drastic measures were required, like tarts. Heaven forgive us our earthly trespasses!

Sometimes I'd even leave caramel sauce at a neighbor's house where it would be stolen and eaten directly out of the jar with the spoon without my knowledge. But that's how saints are: a little sneaky if you ask me.

And then there were the mini doughnuts that were also required in her presence. Don't tell the other saints but we may have committed gluttony as we rocked the night away listening to Phread sing "Don't Fear the Reaper."

Is it any wonder that eventually that saint would bear fruit (I mean, you feed something for long enough it's bound to sprout)?

I have a hunch that her coconut baby is way more delicious than any purgatory-rescued mexican chocolate.


So it was that a long time ago I, Azucar-of-the-Pines, as named by cjane, confessed to the patron saint of the bloggernacle, my secret age. You know, the age you think of yourself as, no matter what age your bossy birth certificate says. Ever since I was small I knew I was really 32. I fingered my bead necklace and said with a thousand sighs, "32. Always have been, always will be." And now our cjane is 32 and we're the same age for just a little while longer.

Probably just long enough to make some more cookies.

Happy birthday sweet cjane, maybe those wings aren't such a joke after all.



(Yes, they are.)




More tributes to cjane at b., at Sue's, at Kalli's, at CW's, and at Phread's. And especially at LaYen's, who has the whole legend for your perusal.

Something Cleverish

Look! I am a published author!

Sure, this isn't the first book that I've been involved in, but it involves the best motives (unlike my last books which were publish for self-aggrandizement, and also grades.)

Forty-two of my closest friends and I have each donated an essay for the book Something Cleverish, from which all proceeds will benefit the Stephanie and Christian Nielson Recovery Fund.

So go buy it. Consumerism and selfless giving, what could be better!?

(And don't say a fur coat because this isn't a negotiation.)

Mecca and The Wasteland

I was at Target (Mecca) tonight looking at legwarmers.

Wait, there’s more.

My baby sister is getting married in a month. I picked her up for a late night run to the fabric store. We wandered the aisles trying to find the right fabric for her veil with no luck. Not for the first time I voiced my sincere disappointment that we don’t have better fabric stores. You want a taco, we got the taquerias. You want a mean braised short rib, we got the chops. You want mountains, yeah we got that. Fabric stores? Barely passable. I got depressed.

To add insult onto injury, I was informed that La Professora wanted us to go to Kmart. Why? Why would she ask that of us? But what Spanish mama wants, Spanish mama gets. We shook off the 100% mystery content textiles and drove to the overwhelming Kmart wasteland. Sometimes when I go to Kmart the weight of the world falls on my shoulders. The store is stuffed with ramshackle goods lit by a 15 watt bulb. It always feels like Kmart is moving—why else would those boxes be in the middle of the aisle and bins be everywhere? I smell the desperation. We were in search of containers in which my sister could pack her trousseau on her move due south. She gingerly poked at the plastic boxes while I made a face.
“Please,” I whispered, “Can we just go to Target?”

So we turned around and headed for Mecca (which was south.)

The rows of containers neatly arranged on their clean shelves under bright lights animated me. Soon, nothing could stop me; a new pizza cutter? Yes! A new belt? Yes! Make it two? Please! And that’s when I ran smack into the legwarmers.

I fingered a heather grey finely woven set and thought about cjane. “You know she loves the presents,” I said to me.
“Legwarmers?” Sister sniffed.
“Yes, but you see…”
“Does she have some sort of dance competition to prepare for?” She cut me off dryly, in only the way that she can.
“But, they’re for cjane,” I insisted, “Because she can get away with them.”
“Uh-huh,” She is unconvinced.
I put them back on the hangers.
Because sorry, janers, I had to go with my sister.

But you understand.

Viscosity and Patience

It started as a winking boast to friends--"I'm a really good cook, don't waste me by assigning me to bring the chips or the drinks." Oh yes, I was going to bring the best cake to the holiday party. The cake that would make knees weak and ladies faint.

As usual, pride goeth before the fall.

I started with the meringue layers. Look how perfect they are:

The cake stand was selected to compliment and shined to deserve it.

I sliced and caramelized the local pears in butter and sugar.

I cooked the cranberries into a glossy red sweet-tart filling with marmalade accents.
The plan was to layer the crispy meringue with whipped white chocolate ganache and fill with the caramelized pears and cranberries. The layers would be alternated and ooze just slightly--rustic and delicious.

Time for the ganache. You heat the cream and add in the chopped chocolate. Stir until melted. You can pour it over a cake as a glossy coat, or cool the ganache until it's thick but pourable (a couple hours in the fridge.) When it's at the right viscosity you can whip it, like cream, and it makes a thicker, more flavorful whipped cream. It's insanely delicious.

The trick is the correct viscosity. I've waited too long before and had the ganache break into into pieces, like chips in cream. Eep. You have to melt and start over.

Tonight I went the opposite way...I didn't wait long enough.

The ganache, usually a thick and glossy affair turned into this...

Curds. Broken. Disaster.

I consult Internet. I add more warm cream to try to re-emulsify it. No dice. I melt the whole sucker again. It breaks. I add more cream. I whip extra cream and re-add the ganache in batches. It just gets worse. Nothing works. I have added THREE PINTS of cream to the Titanic.



We bring a Costco pie to the party.

I eat crow and deserve it.

Morgan's Nie Benefit

I absolutely can’t wait for Morgan’s Nie Auction/Etsy sale next week. Not just that I made something for it, but I’m fully expecting to get a good amount of my Christmas shopping done. Oh yes, this is the year, I’ve decided, when I shall be prepared several months ahead of time. I may even have my Christmas shopping done before the Halloween costumes. Speaking of Christmas, in the What is the MATTER with Retailers Department, I noticed that the holiday decorations were out, oh, Labor Day. Sigh. I may want to plan ahead, but I don’t want to be reminded of it all.

A day before I started working on my item for Morgan’s sale, Other Half mentioned that we spend a lot of time on the computer. I showed him; instead I worked for hours straight, days on end, stitching the bag. I figure this is the worst bag I’m ever going to make. On the one hand I want you all to bid on it, on the other, I’ll have to apologize that my item doesn’t meet the quality of Louis Vuitton. Believe me, letting that dream go was devastating. I figure I’m going to need an industrial sewing machine next. I should probably look at some wholesaling for quality leathers. I’m insane.


One of the first things I did was to order a few sterling silver jet charms, because you can’t buy a Jet Set bag without a jet (it’s de rigueur.) I’m in love with the combination of gray and orange and have been splashing it on everything, this purse included.

Introducing the St. Mortiz Tote from The Jet Set:


It’s not as if Serge gave you days notice, no, in typical style he phoned when the driver was at the gate. As tiresome as Serge was becoming, you knew that the minute you faced him, carrying your gray wool herringbone St. Moritz Tote trimmed in orange grosgrain and lined in satin, all would be forgiven. Carefully you fingered the sterling silver jet, contemplating moving it from the button to the zip-pull. Just in case, you did stash your tiny black book in the interior compartment, hey, a girl should keep a few secrets during the hazy autumn season.



Be sure to check Morgan’s blog for details on the Nie Benefit sale!

So Busy

I've been so busy (how busy) that I haven't had enough time to blog! It couldn't be that I'm having problems coming up with something to write about, or that I'm stressed at work, or making something for the Nie auction, nope, it's that I'm busy! I'm scurrying to and fro, so busy, like some sort of woodland creature, but I'm too busy to pick which kind, so let's just say busy! I'm SO busy that I think I need to make today's post into bullet points for more efficient reading and built-in categorization.

• Day 5,000 of me making Soviet references at work passed today. For the count: I banged my shoe on the table once, and made two Five Year Plan jokes. Dead air. I will never learn.
• Another colleague found out that they are allowed to curse around me. I feel so happy that I'm able to provide them with a soft space to make such foul-mouthed remarks. I truly don't mind if you curse in front of me, I just ask that you do it well and with panache. Don't be lazy in your cursing, because that's boring (and makes you look brutish.)
• Even after the colleague indicated that I could swear as well, I didn't. Whoa. I tried to and the word just wouldn't come out of my mouth. It looks like trying not to cuss out loud for the past months actually worked. Hmm. I feel...good about this?
• The biggest problem with me making a bag for the Nie auction is that I get completely carried away with where this will take me. I'm sewing the bag and all of a sudden the person who buys it is walking down the street and people start gasping and pointing because they all want one as well. They absolutely have to have the name of the designer. I'm inundated with requests to make more, more, more and I have to start looking at outsourcing. The fame is dizzying but I'm handling it really well. I'm so grounded, yet fabulous. I'm guesting on Project Runway to host the challenge and special guest judge. And that's how I end up looking up Chinese factories online, troubleshooting outsourcing, and designing my label, all before I've even fused the interfacing and cut out the lining.
• Oh, would you look at that? It's almost 10:30, time for me to start sewing again or Project Runway is never going to call.

Nie Garlands

In honor of my friend, Stephanie Nielson, today is NieNie Day all over blogworld. I decided that I would make some paper decorations for her room: one, Stephanie loves paper crafts, and two, fresh flowers aren’t allowed in the burn center. So here are a few pictures of the paper flower garlands I’m sending off to Christian’s sister.

Hundreds of people are offering items for auction to benefit Stephanie and Christian, here are just a few options up for bid TODAY in case you’re interested:

Cake, from one of the very few I'd trust to make a cake.

Signed guitar and tickets to Maroon 5

BYU Football signature helmet and football

Hand made bags, very cute

Gift Certificate to Remedez Spa

Photo session with the talented Haley

DVD restoration

Signed books

Homemade baklava
Sarah Jane print

Your choice of baked good from Dizzle & Fig

Aprons and slippers for children

Darlybird
Sushi and paper set all the way from Japan
A night's stay in a pirate's nest!
GORGEOUS Pronk Clothes
Tons of earrings, bracelets, and lithographs (very cool)

Incredible handmade venetian lace tablecloth and napkins (must see)

Those of you who loved my new bag must go nuts for the Freshly Picked quilt up for auction here.

and the Jolly Porter promises to make you famous.

If none of those tickle your fancy, check your pulse, and then check out the exhaustive list (including hotel stays, sports tickets, stationary, children's gear and clothing) at Design Mom's site.

As for me, I’m making something for a Nie benefit auction next month (and so can you.)

La Vie Cjane

It’s so fun to think that my friend cjane is practically Internet royalty (having already held a Provo royalty crown for years.) Cjane doesn’t participate in memes and she doesn’t tag. Imagine my surprise when she tagged me. I had a feeling, I really thought it through, that this tag is to explain how to live like cjane.

How to Live La Vie Cjane

The absolute first thing you must, must do is to wake up when you want to. And if you are cjane, that means waking up early, unless you don’t want to, in which case you won’t. However, early is preferable, unless it’s not.

Oops! I think you jumped the gun. I said wake up, not get out of bed. Make sure you spend a few minutes breathing deeply and contemplating the day ahead. Make a note of the light, the weather, and if you hear any birds singing. You will need to blog about all that later so make sure the adjectives are already plonking around in your head.

Once you have arisen you should eat breakfast, or not, you know, whatever. Perhaps some reading is in order? Proximo demonstrates:

Cjane doesn't usually read from magazines (as far as I know, she only reads hardcover books with library binding,) but you get the idea.

Next up, out shopping. It's important to go shopping because you never know when you'll need another pair of Crocs. Crocs are so important to cjane that she started her name with "c" as an ode to the nefarious 'foot wear.' By the way, it's OK to feel a little overwhelmed at a big warehouse store, cjane would be.

Wow. That was hard work. Time to reward yourself!

You have to visit at least one Provo institution per day if you are going to live la vie cjane. This time of year, cjane recommends the shamrock sugar cookies.

I'll leave our next adventure up to a multiple choice question:

1. You can't resist your box of donuts and rush back to the step down lounge in your home to knock back a few while surveying your domain.

2. You become distressed with the intensity of your outings and insist to be chauffered back to your doublewide immediately (no donuts.)

3. All those sweets remind you of all the peanut snacks living at Page's house, so you trek north to the happy house on the hill.

4. You ignore several phone calls and resolve to lose your phone forever.

Any of those could happen!

If you haven't had a picture taken of yourself yet today, then that is flat-out the next thing that must occur. No, sorry, no excuses, pictures must be taken.

Time for you to visit your mother. Even if your mom doesn't have a seat on the city council, I bet she is doing other super-important things. This mom is busy loving Proximo up (what else are you supposed to do with him? He can't debate potholes or parking permits.) A little talk of politics, a little reminiscing, a little grounding as your family never lets you get away with anything.

On the way home, you should weigh the pros and cons of cultured dairy products (yes? no? maybe?) Once you've firmly decided that they are in, you should consider changing your mind. Why pigeon-hole yourself?

Record a song for possible future broadcast.

Please tell me that you have some fabulous pillows and a very long couch that you can snuggle into for an end of winter night. The sun is setting on the step down lounge when your love turns the key in the door.

And what happens next in your life of cjane?

Well, that's your own multiple choice.


Tell me how you live like cjane.

Catch me over at cjane's blog today.