15 Minutes of Accomplishment

Assuming, well, assuming all sorts of things, today might actually be "normal". It's been a long time.

"Normal" means getting up early for coffee and prayer (check), unloading the dishwasher (check), getting The Child off to school without incident (check). So far so good.

Now what it means is getting something accomplished. There's a lot that hasn't been normal lately, with the weather changing routines and all that. This has only compounded the struggle with my own little devil, the one named "Procrastination". Here's an example of how it gets me. Say I need to pungle some bills (which I do). That usually also requires entering stuff into Quicken, possibly reconciling the checkbook, adjusting my cash flow projections...all of which take time. Usually too much time, because I procrastinate. I procrastinate even when I know there is money to pay the bills, although I know part of this is a hold-over from the days when I didn't have money and every bill paying session was accompanied by a clenched stomach, dry mouth and shaking hands. The other part of it is just that because I put it off there is always a ton to do and I feel overwhelmed so I just don't do it at all. Which means that there is even more on the pile the next time I think to tackle it.

Or take editing that liturgy book. I finished the manuscript last January. I've done very little on the editing. Because it's a big job. It's going to involve some re-writing. I don't enjoy that so much. So I put it off. And I also put it off because I think that if I can't devote a couple of hours to it then I shouldn't bother at all. Which is why the job isn't close to being completed.

I've mentioned Flylady before. I've adopted a lot of her common sense principles to good effect but one of the things I haven't heeded as much is her "15 minute" rule, to whit "You can do anything for 15 minutes". More than that, she emphasizes that once you've logged your 15 minutes, you're done. She encourages people to not stress if the whole project isn't completed right away. Which makes particular sense when you're talking about something like paperwork or ironing or some other quotidian task that's still going to be there tomorrow no matter what.

So I'm going to focus on that 15 minute thing...dedicating little chunks of time to projects that don't necessarily thrill me to the marrow but can't be ignored forever. Doing certain things every day for 15 minutes (like book-keeping) will necessarily result in having less to do over time. As for bigger projects, well, yes, the first thing my little devil voice said was, "You can't get a book done by only editing for 15 minutes a day". To which I replied, "15 minutes is a damn sight more time than I'm spending right now". What's the old joke...how do you eat a whale...one bite at a time. (Hopefully cream sauce is involved).

For additional incentive, The Neighbor and I have adopted a new ritual of sharing our daily accomplishments when we have our evening glass o' wine. Because we both have a tendency to focus on what we didn't do. This way, we celebrate what we have done, however small or insignificant it may be. And because we know we are going to be sharing it with someone else, it prods both of us to make sure we actually have something to share. Yay us.

So as long as a blizzard doesn't start or The Child isn't suddenly taken ill or The Dog doesn't run away from home, I may be able to have a "normal" day. And get something done.

A Frustration and A Dream

The email troubles continue. This morning I booted up my computer to find that my incoming messages are now no longer working. I know this because I always start my day with with an inbox containing the NY TImes and the Writer's Almanac, a dozen messages from Flylady.net and myriad spam messages. Today? Not so much as one hot stock tip or means of acquiring pharmaceuticals cheap. I need a backup email account.

I slept through the alarm, thus missing my morning workout. This owes in no small part to having lain awake for several hours in the middle of the night mulling over things over which I have no control (HATE that) and when I finally did fall back to sleep I had a very weird dream:

Some chappie with an odd name came to tell me that a friend wasn't what he seemed and was actually living in a state-run facility in one (very undecorated) room because he was a perverse danger to society and should be avoided. I couldn't believe that on the mere word of this strange chappie who seemed to know so much and sure enough, a little investigation proved that the friend had been bugged by the NSA and they put him in this jail-like situation because he was on record as hating George W. Bush. So I spent most of the dream trying to free my friend but in the meantime I went to a mall and bought cigarettes for The Child (????? - I know, even in my dream I thought that was pretty whacked. Maybe I bought them for the imprisoned friend but it is still weird that I would give them to her to hold). Anyway, the smokes had to be hidden because on our way to the elevator we ran into an old college buddy who was shopping with his parents and then I was at home (and no one was smoking, so that's a relief) and the Very Creative Neighbor down the street came through with a pack of children who were fundraising for their school by erecting a cardboard set on your lawn and singing "Another Opening, Another Show". It was pretty good so I went into the house to get the checkbook and looking out the dining room door saw that the roof of the Neighbor's house was covered with wet toilet tissue. I was just getting ready to yell at The Child for what was obviously her idea of a prank when I realized the tissue was in our yard too and then I looked up and it was actually snowing big, fat, blanket-the-world-in-no-time flakes, which was lovely so we (meaning us and The Neighbor) all gathered on the deck to watch it and The Spouse started sobbing and saying, "Why didn't I put up the Christmas lights? It would be so Norwegian!", meaning the glow of the lights on the new-fallen snow and then I woke up.

So I missed my workout. Which is unfortunate because we had pasta AND garlic bread for dinner last night, which isn't really in my diet plan at the moment. But The Child's Best Friend Since First Grade is visiting us and I wanted to make her favorite pasta. Unfortunately, tonight, she has requested pizza. I have to take The Dog on a power walk. Maybe 3 power walks. And not eat. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Paper Tiger

We don't live in squalor. Never have. Even before the days of FLYlady the house was always tidy and we ate regular meals. I'm not pathologically disorganized or lazy. But man, am I easily sidetracked. I can be very easily distracted by things I oughtn't to be and too often leave neglected the bits that, were I just to take a few minutes each day to manage, wouldn't turn into the monsters they sometimes are.

Today I am thinking specifically about paper. It just keeps coming at me and my instinctual response is to toss it in a drawer with a "Gotta get to that", at which point I read blogs or play "just a few minutes" of a computer game or do some sort of household thing that I find more compelling. Like wiping the fronts of the kitchen counters. Seriously. I'd rather scrub just about anything than spend 15 minutes paying bills, filling out forms and returning phone calls. How I worked as an office manager, in charge of 5 staff and overseeing a budget of 1.5 million I will never freaking know. I was a terrific office manager. I got things done, baby! Now, at a time in my life when maybe 15 minutes a day is enough to keep it under control I am hard pressed to find the time. What is up with that?

I know that writing and caring for the family are my most compelling occupations. I find tremendous satisfaction in running a home. Most elements, of it, that is. But the paper thing is out of control, probably because I don't think it is nearly as fun as the other things I need to do. And we are all about the fun over here at Mom Co.

Paperwork that has been ignored will sometimes take care of itself. Like the email from a bride asking if we were coming to the wedding because we hadn't rsvp'd yet. (We're not. And yes, I had the grace to be humiliated that she had to inquire since I myself am annoyed beyond belief by people who can't be bothered to rsvp. I know. I'm a hypocrite.) Or getting a call from the school secretary about our guest list for the auction because I hadn't filled out the reservation form. So that's two pieces of paper that can just be recycled but sheesh.

I open the mail over the recycling bin. My stack of paper isn't full of stuff I never need to deal with in the first place. And I understand, in theory, the "touch it once" principle but in practise, not so much. Unfortunately, the consequences of ignoring the inevitable can be dire. Overdrawing bank accounts, paying things late, missing appointments. And I have, regrettably, done all these things. Mea culpa.

Well, it's Lent. And the point of Lent, among other things, is to reform one's character. I am lazy about those things which I deem unglamorous. And that's just stupid. Admitting you have a problem is the first step toward overcoming it. So I've made some new rules for myself, which I am posting above my desk until they become habitual:

1. I will not read any blogs until I've done my paperwork for the day.
2. Diversion is one thing, avoidance is quite something else. Therefore, for the remainder of Lent, I will not play any computer games.
3. I will pay all bills on paydays. Just knowing the money is there is not enough. (And for crying out loud, I pay nearly everything on line anyway. It's not complicated). Likewise, I will enter all ATM & POS slips the day I receive them. (It's never pleasant when you discover that your hefty Quicken balance bears no relationship to the reality of your bank account).

I am at peace with many of my imperfections. But it's time to rehire my inner office manager. I've been limping by with a temp for way too long.

Thursday Miscellany

Annoyance
The diswasher isn't washing. Now I have to do everything by hand, including the supposedly clean stuff that is sitting in there with spinach crust all over it. Eeew.

Things To Be Thankful For
Hot and cold running water. Sheesh, it's not like I have to take my dishes to the river and beat them on a rock.

Birthday Fever

At 11:10am PST, The Child officially turned 12. I can't 'bebeeve' it. We were late to school because I let her open presents from Aunt Tracy and Nana. But what are you going to do? She doesn't get to open her family presents until tonight, when Papa can be there. She doesn't get her birthday dinner until tomorrow night because she wants sushi and Thursday is the crazy extracurricular day (Drama Club, then choir and we're not home for dinner until 7). Her party isn't until Saturday. And you have to start out your birthday doing something birthday-like. She took 19 mini-bundt cakes to class for the lunch-time party. This was the first time that she's had the wherewithal to help with the preparations. I love having a child who loves to cook and bake. Takes such a load off the ol' mater.

Piddly Stuff
For someone who doesn't have a paying job I sure have a lot of paperwork. I am astonished at the way it piles up, even though I try hard to practise the "touch it once" principle of paper management. Today I'm going to listen to the Flylady radio show and plug away at it all. There isn't a thing in the stack that will take longer than a few minutes to deal with but deal with it I must because just knowing it is there makes me feel itchy.

Note to Self
Get a shelf installed over the Viking, sooner rather than later. Charge cell phone. Now.

Project Runway
The fabulous Tim Gunn was fabulous last night. He was very bitchy about one of the models. I'd never seen him like that before. The evil Santino survived to design another day but it is more and more clear that he really isn't all that talented. Maybe next week he'll finally be out.
Nick threw a fussy queen hissy fit. Daniel is adorable. Chloe is so tiny I bet you could fit her in a shoe box. Love her.

Next Thing We Do
The Child used to say that all the time.

I am in a purging mood. Not the Lindsay Lohan kind, the "geez, you think we have enough stuff?" kind. It's a winter thing. Being in the house all the time makes me notice more. I am actually pretty good about flinging and decluttering. Nothing new comes into the house without something old moving on to bless someone else. But I still think I'm going to do 27 fling boogie in every room of the house today.

Blogging Tomorrow
I'll be posting late in the day. From 10-3 tomorrow I'll be helping out at a big fundraiser for Maria with her special guest, Hillary Clinton. We have to be vetted by the Secret Service and everything. It should be big fun, assuming the NSA hasn't actually been spying on me. If that's the case, I'll be blogging from GitMo or wherever it is they put suspect housewives. I'll keep you posted.

Big Decision
We have two Superbowl invitations.

Ordenadora

The house this morning - with its truths
scrambled, blankets and feathers, the start of the day
already in flux-drifts like a poor little boat
between its horizons of order and of sleep.

Objects want only to drag themselves along:
vestiges, entropic followers, cold legacies.
Papers hide their shriveled vowels;
the wine in the bottle prefers to continue yesterday.

But you - The One Who Puts Things in Order - you shimmer
through like a bee, probing space lost to the darkness:
conquering light, you with your white energy.

So you construct a new clarity here,
and objects obey, following the wind of life:
an Order establishes its bread, its dove.

Pablo Neruda

This is my signature poem. It tells me that homekeeping can be the means to peacemaking. It names me, Ordenadora - The One Who Puts Things in Order. That is exactly what I do. I derive enormous satisfaction from the simple act of ordering our lives. I walk through the house, pulling up blankets, removing water glasses from side tables, fluffing pillows, wiping crumbs from a counter. In about 15 minutes I can restore order, create cosmos from chaos. When I do this, I create order and peace. It is a gift that I can give my family. They might not even recognize it but I know that by bringing order to our home in these small and gentle ways, their lives are made easier.

A friend once remarked, marvelled really, that my house was always clean. "No," I told her. "It isn't always clean but it is always tidy". Even before Flylady I understood the importance of being able to sit down in a chair without having to first move a pile of laundry, of being able to set the table without having to pick up 4 days worth of mail and newspapers. Now that I have routines that address the cleanliness issue, it is even easier to be Ordenadora. It truly requires little effort to burnish the edges, so to speak.

One day, shortly after we finished our kitchen remodel, the Rabbi's Wife came to call, eager to see the results of our efforts. It was a day when I had not been Ordenadora. The house wasn't a disaster, mind you. It never is. But it didn't yet speak peace. And I found myself apologizing for the dishes still on the counter and the unswept floor. I was disappointed that my beautiful kitchen wasn't quite as lovely as it could have been. (This was probably enhanced by the fact that the Rabbi's Wife has a spotless, pristine home). It was silly of course. The house wasn't that bad at all and she probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't said anything. People do live here, after all. But I vowed then and there that I would never again be caught out like that. The bed would be made first thing, the surfaces cleared after use. I didn't want to ever again feel like I needed to apologize for the state of my house, unless we'd just been hit by a hurricane or something.

You're probably thinking, yes, but life does indeed happen. And besides, who wants to live in a place where you aren't allowed to live? Doesn't the very fact of being human mean that you'll make messes? Of course. I'm not one to cover my couch with a plastic protector or run after everyone with a dustpan and crumber. I don't lose it when there are smudges on the window or sticky spots on the floor. I am not obsessive compulsive nor a martyr to some impossible myth of perfection. Things don't have to be just so. But you can't live fully in clutter. You need to be able to relax, put your feet up. I want my home to be as welcome and embrace my family every day. I don't believe in cleaning up just because company is coming (which I used to do). I finally realized that we deserve to be treated as well as we treat our guests.

It might sound silly, but I actually get a lot of joy from my daily ritual of being Ordenadora. Once I've assisted Order in establishing "its bread, its dove" I can think clearly. I can write. I can read. In 15 short minutes I can set the stage so that we can all live our lives with less distraction. And it is a ritual, not a chore. It is as meaningful as dipping my fingers in the font at church and making the ancient sign of the cross. I've done that a million times but each time reminds me of my baptismal call. And each morning I assume the mantle of Ordenadora I remind myself of what matters most to me, the ones I love, the need for peace and the freedom to get on with the pursuit of my own dreams.

Party Planning

We have always entertained and, though I say it myself, we've become rather good at it. Our early entertainments were always pleasing, at least to the degree that the food was always good. But over the years we have learned that there is more to entertaining than good food.

The most important lesson is that the comfort of our guests is of primary importance. Serving good food is more or less a given. But being present to our guests is primary. We've learned this the hard way: the Christmas I don't remember because I was in the kitchen all night, the times when the testiness level between The Spouse and I was palpable to our guests. (Really, it is terribly bad form to fight with your spouse during a dinner party, even if he or she deserves it).

Creating an event that will ultimately please the guests and preserve the sanity of the hosts hinges on a few basic principles. The first is planning a menu that delivers excellent flavor with minimum effort. There was a time I would plan a feast around the most elaborate dishes I could find, mistakenly believing that I had to serve the equivalent of gilded peacock to please my guests. (Not that some of them wouldn't be delighted by such a display. Tim.) Entertaining isn't a a time to show off. It is gratifying to hear guests ooh and ahh but simple food, lovingly prepared and generously presented accomplish the same end.

Once the menu is established we plan. We look through all the recipes and figure out how much can be done in advance. Today for example, I will be preparing the soup course and part of the salad course. The Spouse will begin work on the sauce for the entree. That's really all there is to do but these steps will save us a lot of aggravation tomorrow.

Aggravation. When I think of the early feasts, of the way in which The Spouse and I had to compete for space in our phone booth sized apartment kitchen I'm amazed our marriage even survived our entertainments. We have very different cooking styles and we still don't necessarily have a corner on synchronicity. But if we have planned together we mitigate a lot of the tension that builds from our stylistic differences. We figure out who needs to be in the kitchen when, doing what in order to serve each course at its appointed time. It's not unlike the Joint Chiefs planning a military operation:

"Right. At 1300 hours F company will commence smelting of the gold. By 1500 hours S company will have plucked the peacock and pre-cooked the cardoons. Gilding will proceed at 1530, with radish rose carving to be carried out by 1700. Minstrals must be assembled by 1900 and bird will be piped precisely at 1930. Destination, head table, east by southeast. Are there any questions? Fall out!"

Meanwhile, I have to give snaps to my homegirl, Flylady, for removing my biggest source of tension around entertaining. There was a time when I suspected that the only reason I entertained so often was because it forced me to clean the bathroom. I was always scrambling to get the house "ready for company", sometimes up to the last minute, which usually involved a lot of yelling at other people and telling them to move their butts. Unless I just did the martyred slow burn. But I've finally figured out that we deserve to live in a house that's company ready. I'm no longer quite the slave to perfection I once was. I've realized that my guests don't care if there is a stray cobweb in the room. If I am at ease, they are at ease and that is the most important gift I can give them.

The Child has no school today so we slept in. Which was lovely but I'd best hasten out to collect provisions for tomorrow. Peacocks are notoriously difficult to catch.

Uniforms

A stranger in a tea shop once commented on the general cuteness of The Child's school uniform, then hastened to add that she considered uniforms "demeaning to the human spirit". I suppose she had a point. The military, for example, puts people in uniform precisely because the emphasis is on the unit, not the individual. And those connotations would certainly be offputting to someone who believe in unadulterated freedom to express who you are through every vehicle available.

But I like school uniforms for two basic reasons: they level the playing field between (economic) classes and they save a heck of a lot of time in the morning. When you're a kid it's a good thing to have your biggest daily fashion choice boil down to pants or skirt, cardigan or pullover. Besides, The Child has a particularly strong spirit and I haven't noticed it being at all dampered by the fact that she has to wear a uniform to school.

When you think of it, though, practically everyone wears a uniform- ball players, police and firefighters, nurses and doctors, the plumber who came today to tell me that I have to replace part of my sewer line, Harry Potter and all the kids at Hogwarts. Church choirs wear robes, priests wear albs, fashionistas wear Manalo Blahniks, business people wear suits. Uniforms are about order and discipline, sure. But they are also practical. And they serve to identify one's belonging to a particular group or community.

Even when it is not required, most of us have our own version of a uniform. It might be jeans and tee shirts. It might be denim jumpers. My neighbor always wears suits to work but she almost always also wears a scarf. This signiture statement is also part of her uniform (in that she actually wears scarves both for work and for the rest of her life). Can it in fact be argued that our "style" is our "uniform"? Discuss.

SAHMs have a kind of uniform, too. But when The Child was born I swore a solemn oath that I was not going to wear sweats for the next 18 years. My uniform consists of skirts and trousers. It doesn't matter if I'm baking, chauffering or sitting in a meeting, I feel comfortable and "put together". I have proven to myself that it is possible to look nice and still keep a clean house.

But still, today, I decided that my "uniform" does need a new component, one I anticipate wearing, with intention, at least one day a week (probably Mondays, if you're keeping track).

Here's the thing: on Monday I usually do the "big" housework of the week. What FLYlady calls the "Weekly Home Blessing". It only takes an hour but we're talking here about mopping and dusting and sweeping. I can and have done this in heels and a kicky Parisian style skirt but you know what? It can get a little precarious. I think my my fashion sense, in this one instance was getting in the way of more practical (sweaty, dirty) considerations. Knowing I wanted to get some of the more heavy lifting, if you will, done today, I put on a more casual outfit. And when I got down on my hands and knees to clean the baseboards in the bathroom I didn't have to worry that I was putting a hole in my fishnets. Which is not to say, again, that I will dress like this every day nor am I planning on tossing the fishnets. But today I'm styling my green kakhis, pink tennis shoes and new (birthday) "Team Aniston" tshirt. Practical and yet, adorable.

The Kitchen

When I first launched this blog I had to make three attempts before finding a url that wasn't taken, which is why my address doesn't match the blog name. What I did come up with, dothedishesfirst, might not have been my first choice but it has profound meaning for my life.

Very little starts me up like a clean kitchen. It's the first thing I see. I stumble out in the dark to turn on the kitchen light (a signal to my neighbor that I'm up and ready to go work out). When light fills the kitchen and I am greeted by cleared surfaces and an empty sink I am the happiest girl in the whole USA. Oh, I know what you're thinking. How can a woman of such obvious depth and insight be motivated to her highest good by something as pedestrian as a clean kitchen?Well, I'll tell you.

First of all, this is the room where I spend most of my time. Besides the obvious, this is where my desk lives, tucked into a corner by a big window. So all my record-keeping, communicating and writing happens in the kitchen. When I'm at my desk my back is to the kitchen proper but I know if it is out of order. And nothing squelches creative impulse (or distracts me when I got nothin') like a counter that needs to be cleared or a sink of dishes. So I like to make sure the kitchen is clean before I go to bed because then I don't have any excuses.

For the last two years since I've been doing FLYlady I have done a good job at maintaining the Prime Directive (if you will) of Flying, which is to shine your sink. The theory, and its a good one, is that if your sink is clean the order will spread to your counters and eventually to the rest of the house. And it's absolutely true for me. Now, this sets into motion a whole host of other little tasks, such as unloading the dishwasher so there is something to put dirty dishes into, but it all works together and the end result is that the kitchen is always clean during the day.

If the kitchen is clean, I can focus. If I do the dishes first, I can relax. If all that is required for me to be in such a state is an empty dishwasher (3 minutes, max), wiping down counters (20 seconds) and cleaning up as I cook (next to no time if I've got my garbage bowl and soapy sink) then it is an exteremly small price to pay for admission to Blissville.

But I've also noticed lately that I'm not the only one maintaining order. Perhaps some sort of unconscious reprogramming is taking place. But the kitchen has been really clean for weeks now and it's not just me. The clean kitchen seems to be speaking the same message to the rest of the household. It looks good and they don't want to mess it up either. So the coffee cup goes into the dishwasher instead of on the counter. The smoothie spills get wiped up. Whatever is going on, I'm not complaining.

We had a supremely lazy weekend, with occassional flurries of activity. Mostly we hung out, ate and watched movies. I got a nice "casual winter" coat from the fam for my birthday. My birthday pizza was most excellent. The season premiere of "West Wing" rocked and now here we are at the start of another jam-packed, fun filled week. I'm glad we rested up.

Simple Satisfaction

I am a simple creature, delighted by the merest of accomplishments. Today I got home from my meeting and decided it really was time to boogie the fridge.

Flylady encourages a weekly fridge boogie and I usually do a cursory go-over. Sometimes not. I like to think I'm pretty good at using up what I have before I buy more and tossing stuff that isn't going to be used. But I'm always surprised by what I find when I decide to really get in there and clean it out. Like the jar of peanut butter that looks full but really has 1 t. in it. Or the egg salad that has been sitting for a week. Or the fact that there are two receptacles, both half full of kalamata olives. It is so satisfying to marry condiments (restaurant parlance for getting for example, all the olives in one container), toss the half head of wilted romaine and wipe down the shelves. I was particularly adventurous today and reordered the freezer as well. The menu for next week practically wrote itself as I looked at all the bounty in there that is just ready to be cooked up.

By the time I was done I had tossed one grocery bag full of inedibles, filled the dishwasher with storage containers (wondered where all those had got to) and, as I said, planned the menu. All this was satisfying enough but the garbage collectors hadn't shown up yet so I was able to get all that junk to the curb and out of the house, too.

It doesn't take much to make me happy. Speaking of which, I have a few household tips here that delight me no end and make my life ever so much easier. I share them now, with proper credits:


The Soapy Sink. When you start dinner, run a sinkful of hot water. Got this from Flylady. Wash prep dishes as you go and by the time dinner is on the table the kitchen will be practically clean. After dinner I usually just have to wash a couple of pans (stupid Calphalon has to be hand-washed) while The Child loads the dishwasher and we're done. Plus, I love Mrs. Meyer's dish soap, which is a little pricey but it comes in yummy, yummy fragrances. When I run my sink and the rose geranium scent floats up it wakes up my tired little brain and I swear it inspires me to get cooking. Allez cuisine!

The Garbage Bowl. Rachael Ray. I love that little cutie petutie and her 30 minute meals. One of her best ideas is to have a large bowl handy to dump all your cuttings, egg shells and odd bits into as you cook. It seemed a little goofy to me until I tried it. You don't realize how many times you go over to the sink or garbage can when you're cooking until you stop doing it. Put everything in a garbage bowl and then you just dump once. Huge timesaver.

Don't cry for me, Argentina. If you cry when cutting onions, light a candle nearby. I forget where I learned this, The Martha, maybe. I also forget why it works but it really, really does. Seems to help when dealing with pungent chilis, too.

Quicky Pie Crust. Make pate brisee in the food processor. The Martha Stewart. I love pies and tarts and quiches but I used to never make them because pie crust was such a messy pain to make. Then I saw The Martha whip it up in the food processor. I plotzed. Not only does it take no time, but when you whir it up the dough forms a neat little column. You just pull it out and flatten it and viola! Here's the recipe:

Martha Stewart’s Pate Brisee
(double crust)

Place 2 ½ c. flour, 1 t. salt and 1 t. sugar in food processor.

Add 2 sticks of unsalted butter, cut in small pieces and whir in processor until mixture resembles coarse meal (about 10 seconds).

Add ¼ c. ice water in slow, steady stream while machine is running, just until dough holds together and not more than 30 seconds. (This is where I part company from The Martha. I run until the dough forms aforementioned column. It isn't that much longer than the 30 seconds and I guarantee the dough will not be over-worked).

Turn out on plastic wrap, cover and press into flattened circle. Chill at least 1 hour before rolling out.

Dough may also be wrapped a second time in foil and frozen for later use.

This makes the best pie crust ever.

Home again, Home again, Jiggety Jig

Well, boys and girls, I'm home and happy to be so. The Family had done a nice job of keeping the house together and The Spouse was preparing a lovely dinner of pork tenderloin in mustard sauce when I arrived Sunday evening. It felt good to sleep in my own bed and wake up in my own little house.

Yesterday was a loss. I wasn't exactly jet lagged as it's only a two hour difference. But there was a kind of slog about my day. Probably because of the travel on Sunday. Because let me tell you, it is not easy to get an airplane up, keep it up and land it safely - twice - just through sheer force of will! It's exhausting, actually. Plus, on the first leg there was a toddler in the seat in front of me who was just distressed the whole way. Poor thing cried and screamed pretty much for two hours. I felt sorry for her and for her folks. (Frankly, I felt a little jealous. I think crying and screaming are perfectly normal reactions to being confined in a heavy metal object that is expected to hurtle through the air 35,000 miles above the earth. But if I'd been carrying on like that someone probably would have smacked me).

So anyway, I was kinda tired, plus I kept checking CNN to see if I would ever be able to visit New Orleans. My heart goes out to those people in the South, it truly does. But I'm not sure I get them. We have earthquakes in the West but we have building codes that mitigate the damage. In the midwest everyone has storm cellars. It just seems to me that if you live in a place that has a "season" for a recurring natural disaster, you'd do something to protect yourself. Like live underground in concrete bunkers. I realize that doesn't exactly jibe with the notion of gracious antebellum homes that we picture when thinking of the South. But most people there aren't living at Tara anyway. I think there should be a federal law that prohibits living in a double-wide in a hurricane zone. But that's just me.

I'm looking forward to being more productive today. School starts in just one week. We need to get The Child's room cleaned up. We need to get her computer back on line. We need to try on all her uniform bits and see what fits and what doesn't. We need to return books to the library. I need to sweep and mop and get some fruits and vegetables into the house. I want to do some baking. I want to have a meeting with The Child about routines and start putting together her own little Control Journal (www.flylady.net) for the school year. And, it occurs to me that I haven't issued an evite yet for the annual Labor Day BBQ. Plus, I still have tidbits of packing to undo and put away. In short, order must be restored and I'm the gal to do it. I'll just get myself another cup of coffee first...

Empty Drawers

When we bought our house seven years ago, we moved from a 840sf apartment into 1200sf. We gained two rooms, three closets, a garage and an attic. The kitchen was about three times the size of the phone booth we'd had before. There was also a built in buffet in the dining room and a linen closet. Needless to say, the new space practically echoed once we moved in.

As is the way of Western culture, however, we rapidly began to fill up every possible inch of storage. Possessions multiplied, proving once again that nature abhors a vacuum.

I have always been the kinda gal who likes to organize. I love creating "systems". I've just never been that stellar at maintaining them. I would look at a shelter magazine and my eye would nearly always be drawn to the interiors with clean lines and simple decorations. I was inspired by what I dubbed "Euro-Shaker" design but didn't have what it took to acheive it or to maintain my terribly creative organizational systems. I kept wondering how I could be charmed by a more Zen-like approach to home decor and still have stuff billowing out everywhere. I yearned for simplicity but even though I always had donations when the blind/retarded/veterans called to say they'd have a truck on my street, I couldn't seem to get ahead of the "stuff". Think "The Trouble with Tribbles".

Two years ago a friend introduced me to FLYLady (www.flylady.net). At first glance I didn't relate. The website seemed to be geared to those people who can't negotiate through their house for all the stacks of newspapers. My house, though seldom mopped or dusted, is always tidy. Besides, we entertain all the time which necessarily gets the bathroom cleaned up. My struggles with clutter weren't that bad. But after a little more reading I decided to give it a whirl.

As the months go by I'll have plenty to say about the power of FLYLady's method but here's the thing for today: as I started "flinging" my clutter, I stated the simple goal of having more storage than I needed, symbolized by at least one empty drawer or shelf in every room.
A corrollary goal is that those spaces with limited storage capacity, such as the bathroom, will be kept pared to essentials, thus creating the illusion of space. I am nearly there.

William Morris, leader of the Arts and Crafts movement, stated his design philosophy this way: "Have nothing in your home which you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful". Some objects are both useful and beautiful, like my Kitchen Aid can opener. But ocassionally I need to stop and contemplate the objects in my home. What do they say? Have they been around so long that I no longer see them? And if I don't notice them, is it because they no longer speak to me? I would like to think that every object in my home has a story and it is that story, as well as it's beauty, which justifies it's existence.

Things you will never find in my home:

crocheted bath tissue cover
painting of dogs playing poker
"Precious Moments" anything
Elvis memorabilia
green plastic kitchen canisters

Things you will find:
a chicken cookie jar
representations of the Eiffel Tower
a jar of rocks, shells, soil and foreign coins from various travels
baseballs autographed by people who no longer play for the Mariners

Which is to say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But we can all probably let go of a little more stuff.

Paper Work

It is part of my evening routine that I clear off my desk before shutting down the computer. This is part self-preservation, as I have a very small desk and part in keeping with my overall life philosophy which begins, "Start your day with a clean kitchen". I have a pretty simple and effective system for managing paper. I open mail next to the recyling bin. I have a large notebook ("control journal" in FLYLady parlance) which is used for storing and managing most household, extracurricular, entertaining and school related papers. I tuck bills into a designated folder. I almost always file bills as I pay them, fill out school forms as they come in and enter ATM slips into Quicken as soon as I've stowed the corresponding purchases. So explain to me why there is a stack of papers literally 3 inches high (I measured) waiting for my attention? Good thing I have a system, eh?

It's going to be a lazy, food-oriented weekend around here. Dinner tonight at Pizzuto's with our friends the Lawsons. Tomorrow an old friend of The Spouse's is coming for an after-church BBQ. Last time I saw this guy his new baby cried through our wedding. (I didn't realize that until I saw the video, though. There are no hard feelings.) And The Spouse wants BBQ chicken for dinner which means, drumroll, I will not be cooking this weekend. Except I think I'm going to make a fig tart. After I've dealt with that 3 inch pile of papers.