Zucchini bread, not by the recipe

I haven't been writing lately. But I haven't been lazy either. I retired. But my lifestyle isn't retiring. Things have changed. But I am happy!

The physical experience of moving from Greensboro to the mountains was not fun at all. Everyone I know has moved at least once and can relate to the misery. Nevertheless, you invariably get to the other side, get settled, and feel good about your new digs. It's the same for me. We got to the other side, got things put away, and actually are feeling wildly happy in our new rural mountain abode. We love the challenges and we love adapting.

A lot of the challenges come from our relative isolation. We're about 7 miles from a convenience store and about 17 miles from a town with a real grocery store. In Greensboro, we could run to the store 2 or 3 times a day if we were out of something or developed a sudden yen for, say, a pizza. Heck, if it was pizza, we could pick up the phone and have it delivered. Not so now. No one delivers in Sector R.

This means we have to plan ahead, make do, or do without. It means we make lists, and every trip to "the city" involves taking care of every errand we can think of. We don't buy groceries on a daily basis,depending upon what we'd like to have at the moment, but buy weekly after making up carefully planned menus.

Monday was Memorial Day and I didn't plan ahead. As a matter of fact, I found myself acting on a whim. Prompted by a last minute invitation to a community celebration, I decided to bake something to share. And considering the fact that we have LOTS of zucchini, a nice zucchini bread seemed like a good idea. I would not let the fact that I've never made it before stop me. I had the internet for a recipe, plenty of zucchini from the garden, flour, eggs, sugar, cinnamon, oil -- what could stop me?

Let's see - the recipe called for me to bake in two 8x4 loaf pans. I have only one 8x4 loaf pan. I have two 9x5 loaf pans, but there wouldn't be enough batter for that. I could use one 8x4 and one 9x5, but the larger pan would produce an awfully thin loaf. My solution was to use my trusty bundt pan. This is called "making do."

Then, I see the recipe calls for baking powder. Now, I know I have baking powder, but heaven only knows what unpacked box it's in. Unpacking more boxes is not a choice I'm willing to make. So, I think that surely there's a substitute. And fortunately, I have the internet (the oracle). Lo and behold, I can substitute 2 parts cream of tartar and one part of baking soda -- both of which I do have! This is called "making do."

So, I made do and I'm happy to report that the zucchini bread turned out great. I'll be making more as the summer goes on since our garden is blessing us with a bountiful harvest.

For those of you who've asked, the recipe I used follows. I'll write it as given, but remember that I used a bundt pan and substituted soda/cream of tartar for baking powder. I'll keep using the bundt pan, but baking soda is on my shopping list for the next trip into the "the city."

Zucchini Bread

3 cups all-purpose flour

1 tsp salt

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp baking powder

3 tsp ground cinnamon

3 eggs

1 cup vegetable oil

2 1/4 cups white sugar

3 tsp vanilla extract

2 cups grated zucchini

1 cup chopped walnuts

Grease and flour 2 4x8 baking pans

Beat eggs, oil, vanilla, and sugar in large bowl. Add dry ingredients and mix well. Add zucchini and nuts.

Pour batter into prepared pans.

Bake 50-60 minutes at 325 degrees until tester comes out clean.

Cool in pan for 20 minutes then turn out onto wire rack to cool completely. 

I carry it in my heart

This is for my dear Greensboro friends and colleagues -- all of you who have so generously warmed the cockles of my heart with your well-wishes, kindnesses, and company, especially these past few days. Time has flown by. Just 8 weeks ago, my retirement was only "talk" and moving to the mountains was only a dream. But today, my home is packed and ready to go. Today I am saying good-bye to the work-a-day world with its mixed-bag of frustrations and joys.

But I am not saying good-bye to you. That doesn't mean that I'm not leaving because I am. I doesn't mean that I'll visit, although I will. It doesn't mean that you'll visit me, although you're always welcome.

I'm not saying good-bye to you because you will always be with me. You are a part of who I am.

Starting in 1996, we spent many hours together creating a great educational program for the University. We jumped through hoops together, solved problems together, felt angry together, traveled together, and felt the joy of our successes. Along the way, we celebrated births, mourned deaths, got to know each other's families; we had a whole lot of laughs. And over the past year, we watched with bitter disappointment as political and economic stresses took down what we'd created.

They say that the only thing that never changes is change itself. That's not quite true. You see, while things may change, the experiences that we shared over time will always be a part of who we are. They joys of knowing you and working with you have made me the person I am today.

I'm reminded of a poem by my favorite writer, e e cummings:

           i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
           my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
           i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
           by only me is your doing, my darling)
                                            i fear
           no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
           no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
           and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
           and whatever a sun will always sing is you
           here is the deepest secret nobody knows
           (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
           and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
           higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
           and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
           i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

I'm not saying good-bye to you because I will carry you in my heart always.

Slowing down; feeling groovy

                
 



          Slow down; you move too fast.
          You've got to make the morning last.
          Just kickin' down the cobblestone;
          Lookin' for fun and feeling groovy!
               
                       59th Street Bridge Song

What's the perfect speed to drive on any interstate highway? The speed limit plus 10 miles per hour? That's what I used to think. I'm pretty sure that's the rule of thumb.

Consequently, I was always driving in the left lane, in a long string of cars and trucks, brake-tapping drivers, and high adrenaline. All of us left-laners were lined up trying to pass some slower driver as much as a quarter of a mile away. All that open lane on the right side, but you wouldn't dare get over because then you'd end up behind the slow-poke with no hope of breaking into the endless platoon of zippier drivers that now stretched out so far you couldn't see its end. 

I drove like that out of habit. Everyone else did.

That is, until my husband and I became a platoon of our own -- me in the little red Prius and him in the Corolla towing a little trailer loaded with household goods we're moving to our new mountain home. Because he needs to drive more slowly, I slow down, too. Our speed became 64 miles per hour. That's 6 mph slower than the limit on most highwayswe drive, and right on the nose on others. But, since most everyone else is traveling at the rule-of-thumb speed (at least), we are now the official slow pokes. 

But, you know what I've discovered? There are major rewards to driving more slowly on the interstate. I am no longer stuck in the traffic jam, gritting my teeth, and keeping my brake foot at the ready. As a matter of fact, I have the right lane to myself pretty much. It's clear sailing because all those other people are either way out in front of me in the same lane, or in the white-knuckle left-lane trying to pass me. Ah, all that clear space. I can relax. I can turn up the volume and enjoy the music on the radio. Best of all, I can enjoy the scenery.

I hear that driving more slowly also saves gas. With record high fuel prices, that's definitely a bonus. But I love the benefits to my soul even more. I feel groovy!

As Ferris Bueller said,  "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." 
 
               
                                                  

A dream-garden sprouts

I never had any other desire so strong,
and so like to covetousness,
as that one which I have had always,
that I might be master at last of a small house and a large Garden. 
Abraham Cowley,
The Garden







Among the few "must haves" that drove our quest for a mountain retreat was our desire for garden space. I think we're both frustrated farmers -- my husband because he actually grew up on a farm and even inherited one (that unfortunately he sold), and me because my father grew up on a farm and never really shed his love of country living.  My father imparted that love to me.

It should come as no surprise, then, that one of our first labors, even before the furniture got moved or the boxes got unpacked, was to draw-up our plans, gather our materials, and build our gardens. Even before closing, we were studying Mel Bartholomew's All New Square Foot Gardening and planting seeds in our dreams.  

I'm happy to report that after just two weeks, those dream seeds have sprouted and we have our garden underway: seven 4x4 raised beds for vegetables and flowers. 

Here's what it took to go from dream to reality:

• One copy of Bartholomew's All New Square Foot Gardening
• One 4x6 utility trailer
• Something like 100 trips to the Lowe's in Forest City
• Lumber, ground cloth, hardware, and power tools
• 20+ cubic feet of peat moss, 28 large bags of smelly compost, 20+ cubic feet of vermiculite
• a tarp, a shovel, a hoe
• formerly unused muscles
• several gallons of water to make up for several gallons of sweat
• tylenol
• aspercreme
• a good sense of humor  

In square foot gardening (SFG) the absolute hardest part is the DIRT!  Called "Mel's Mix" for obvious reasons, this dirt is handmade from peat moss, vermiculite, and compost in equal measure and is NOT dirt cheap. And when you're creating 7 4x4 gardens, it's not unweighty either. We did aplenty of lifting and toting those bales. Dumping the ingredients together. Mixing with hoe and shovel. Tossing back and forth in a big tarp. We were hot, tired, dirty, and grumpy.

A cool shower felt really good. Tylenol, aspercreme, and Wild Turkey cured the rest!


But when the weekend was over, we'd planted tomatoes, sweet peas, cucumbers, yellow squash, zucchini, string beans, red bell peppers, corn, onion, and marigolds.  Next weekend, we'll put in okra, greens, and some zinnias for color and cutting. If all goes well, we may master both the small house and the big garden.

One Ringy Dingy - dealing with THE phone company

One of the challenges of living in a very rural, remote area (sometimes referred to as BFE ), is that you don't have a lot of choices when it comes to service providers. Now, I realize that I should work on my addiction to technology, but I can't do without TV, internet, and phone service. Thus, my research into how best to stay "on the grid" led to certain revelations:

• I can get TV only via Satellite (easy enough to transfer my Direct TV account)
• I can only get internet via Satellite, and then only through HughesNet
• I can't get any cell-phone service, and my only choice is AT&T -- THE PHONE COMPANY

At first blush, I wasn't terribly dismayed about having a land-line again; but my dealings with the omnipotent phone company this week has brought back a flood of unpleasant memories, has plucked my last nerve, and has turned me into a angry wreck of a person.

Here's the situation - I need a phone installed in a house that has never had a phone installed, hence there is NO phone jack into which to plug a phone. Furthermore, I live in a "gated" community and any service provider would need a gate code to enter and get to my house, or they would have to call me (on the phone) to let me know that they were waiting at the gate and I would have to open the gate for them. And to state the obvious, I have no phone upon which the phone installer can call me to let me know I need to open the gate.

On Monday, I called the phone company to place my order. I explained the situation. My order was taken. I was told to expect an email confirmation along with a number to call to set up the installation time and give them a gate code.  HOWEVER, the email I received did not actually give me that option. Rather, it TOLD me when the installation would be (a date and no time). It did provide a number for me to call with any questions.

So, I called the number and talked to JoAnn. She couldn't quite grasp that the phone installer could not call me on the phone to come open the gate. I found this amusing considering the fact that the installer was coming to install the very phone upon which he would need to call me. Anyway, JoAnn could see no solution and referred me to the "customer service" number (800-288-2020 - you should try it sometime).

Well, the problem with customer service is that a robot anwers the phone, and Mr. Robot has a limited understanding of why you might be calling. As a matter of fact, he rattles off about half a dozen possibilities and if your issue doesn't fit neatly, you're out of luck. But apparently I'm dumb enough, or persistent enough, to try to make Mr. Robot understand me. At about 145/95, I gave up.

Next day (today), I try the number from the email again. This time I get Nate who doesn't speak English very well. He also is flummoxed by my situation, which he describes as "complex." I tell Nate that the situation has not so far been "complex" for any other service provider -- that's because other providers have been able to get a message to their installer about the damn gate code.

Nate has given me two other numbers to call and I admit that I have not tried them. I'm scared to.

Instead, I decided to call the local AT&T number, hoping that installers would be dispatched from that office and that they would be willing to relay a simple message. So, I went online to whitepages.com, looked up the local office, and gave them a call.

Guess what, the local phone company's phone has been disconnected!

The Land of Boxes

There are limits to being as giddy as a teenager when you're actually a silver-ager. One biggie is that moving ain't all that fun. In all honesty, it never was fun, but the younger me did it an awful lot. I used to joke that if the freezer needed defrosting or the oven needed cleaning, it was time to move.

I realize some of you may not be old enough to know what "defrosting the freezer" is all about, but trust me, moving can be a preferable activity.

Anyway, I don't have the jaunty who-cares spirit I had back in the day when three friends, a pick-up truck, and 100 trips up and down stairs was no big deal. I also can't stand the utter chaos that comes with emptying cabinets and packing boxes. Nothing's where it's supposed to be and everything's a big mess. I feel like a cross between a hobo and a hoarder.

When did we get so much stuff? And why? Geez, for each packing project I'm creating four separate piles: the pack-and-move pile, the give-it-to-the-kids pile, the give-it-to-Goodwill pile, and the dumpster pile. And I'm embarrassed to admit that we have a storage unit that still has boxes packed from previous moves and I'm having to UNpack all of those just to find out what's in them and which piles all that stuff belongs in. For a pretty frugal person who's reasonably concerned about the environment, I leave a pretty big carbon (junk) footprint.

For the time-being, I'm living in the land of boxes, bubble-wrap, newsprint, and packing tape. I'm living in the land of piles. I lost my sunglasses three days ago and found them this morning. On the counter. In the kitchen. Next to a pile that included a tray, a plate, and a silver pitcher. I can't tell if the kitchen is dirty or merely disordered. It doesn't smell, so that's a good sign.

Slowly, we are working our way toward organization. Several cabinets have been emptied and many boxes have been packed a labeled. We bought a small utility trailer and are carting what we can move on our own on weekend trips to the cabin. The big stuff is left for the professionals (because silver-agers don't tote the barge or lift the bale as well as their younger counterparts).

I expect to move in dribs and drabs till the big stuff goes, then settle happily into our new little cabin a good deal leaner and less encumbered. I relish the thought of greater simplicity -- fewer things to take care of. That's a big part of what this move from the city is all about.

Lemons, Lemonade, and Big Adventures

Do you have a big dream? A vision for yourself for living, loving, leisure? I've always had a big dream; I've always envisioned myself out on some land, raising my own food, having a few chickens, gazing at stars in a truly dark sky, smelling sweet air, and listening only to the sounds of the wind through the trees, birds chirping away, or crystal clear waters tumbling over broad, flat rocks. I've come close to realizing that dream, only to have the dream dashed. But the vision persisted, and now it becomes manifest! My husband and I bought a cabin in the mountains!

After almost a year of serious seeking, we found a place just perfect for us -- three bedrooms, a loft, and a basement high up on a ridge with a long range view of South Mountain in Rutherford County, North Carolina. We closed last Friday and are busy packing and scheduling the big move.

I'm taking this turn of events as proof of the power of persistent dreaming, of having a vision and never letting it go. You see, I believe that if you keep your vision before you, you can call it into being in ways you never would have guessed.  Sometimes even bad fortune leads to opportunity: you really can take lemons and turn them into lemonade!

In my case, the lemon was being forced into early retirement because of the bad economy in North Carolina and the elimination of my position at the university. Better off than many, I was just old enough with just enough service to qualify for retirement although with benefits less than half I would have realized with more years under my belt. But, you know what? I can make it with less money. And the lemonade? Well, that's the gift of time. An opportunity to join my husband in retirement and find the place we both have dreamed of.

We're as giddy as teenagers -- not even phased by the chaos of packing and moving, or changing from a more urban (and convenient) lifestyle to a rural lifestyle where we have to plan excursions to town with forethought and organization. It's an adventure.

And I'm going to keep you posted right here on my blog so you can see for yourself the challenges we face and the successes we create. Come along for the ride!