Dartmouth Homecoming Parade and Bonfire

As long as Sweetie and I have been together, we've been participating in Dartmouth night. I marched in the parade once in high school, but it was so wild and frightening (the crowd closed in on us and kids were throwing things in the tuba) that our band director vowed that we'd never go again. As a spectator, it feels much more safe.

Our evening started by meeting friends at Molly's in Hanover, NH. I know that any evening that starts with margaritas is going to be good. I had a tasty ahi tuna salad with soy glaze and wasabi. It was as yummy at it is pretty.


After dinner we stood just outside of Molly's to watch the parade. There were only three bands: Dartmouth College, Chester High School, Lyme Town. All the other area bands have probably sworn it off in fear of their lives and virginity. The rest of the parade is the college sports teams and members of each graduating class since the college's establishment. I didn't get any photos of the parade because we were being pelted with so much candy it was like being in a hail storm. Pipsqueak had a bag stuffed full, so I told her that she didn't need to go trick or treating now. She begged to differ.

The parade ends at the green where there are no less than a half hour of speeches meant to spirit the football team to victory the next day. Everyone stands around enduring the speeches, waiting for the bonfire to be touched off. This isn't a little campfire; this is a behemoth nearly 30 feet tall. The freshmen run around it while it burns, and the heat is so intense that they sport first degree burns on their left sides the next day.

Chausson Aux Pommes (Apples Turnovers)

Doesn't it sound much fancier in French? Everything does.

I started thinking about apple turnovers last week, and couldn't stop, so I went hunting for a good recipe. I tend to think of recipes as guidelines only and rarely follow them to the letter. The good thing about that is they become MY recipes, and I can put them up here without getting arrested by the publishing police. Without further ado, here is my version of the recipe:

5-6 med. cooking apples, cored, peeled and cut into 1" pieces (I used Cortlands)
1/4 cup water
3 T sugar
3/4 t lemon juice
1 t cinnamon
1/2 t nutmeg
1 pkg puff pastry
1 egg beaten
confectioners sugar (optional)

Place apples in medium saucepan. Add water, sugar and lemon juice. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally until sugar dissolves. Cover; reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until apples are very tender, stirring frequently, about 12 minutes. Remove from heat. Gently mash apples with a fork or potato masher until mixture is very soft but still chunky. Cool completely.

Preheat oven to 400 F. Position one rack in top third and one rack in bottom third of oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Roll out pastry on lightly floured surface to 12 inches square. Cut into 9 squares. Place 1 generous tablespoon of filling in center of each square. Lightly brush edges of pastry with beaten egg. Fold over into triangles and pinch edges to seal. Lightly brush pastries with beaten egg. Place triangles on prepared baking sheets.

Bake turnovers until beginning to color, about 15 minutes. Switch baking sheets from top to bottom. Reduce oven to 350 F; continue baking until turnovers are firm and golden, 10 to 15 minutes. Sprinkle with confectioners sugar if desired. Serve warm.

Yum! They were so good. I made them last night and they're disappearing fast.

The first step is admitting you have a problem...

I am an internet addict. I'm always finding more ways to waste time on the computer.

Today, Sweetie introduced me to the crack den of Facebook. I lost the entire afternoon reconnecting with friends I haven't seen in five to twenty years. While it was fun to do that, I didn't get laundry folded or my house tidied.

I check email no less often than hourly. I have six to ten blogs I read regularly. I belong to a group called Swapcycle, where I list things I don't want anymore and swap them for things I do want. I check the database there once or twice a day. I have email notifications on ebay of items I'm looking for, so I spend time checking them out. I look for recipes, shop, check tv listings, news and weather.

Sometimes I sit down to look something up on the internet, and I get distracted by something there. The next thing I know an hour has gone by and I don't even remember what I came to look up.

I'm going to start setting limits for myself. I will check email in the morning, lunch time, after dinner and before bed. I will allow myself one hour of internet time at lunch time and in the evening. I'm sure I will have set backs, and I won't be able to conquer this addiction in one day, but I must take control of my life and my house again. The dust bunnies mock me as I type.

Note: I put in lots of links, so you can click on them and forget you were actually reading my blog, which you will realize an hour from now, and then wonder where the time went. Misery loves company.

Uplifting (A Helicopter Story)

One of our next door neighbors owns a helicopter. It's a little strange to call him a next door neighbor since he lives almost a mile away, but he is our closest neighbor to the east. He offered Pipsqueak a ride when she was ready, but it has taken her about two years to feel ready. The helicopter has only two seats, so Mommy and Daddy wouldn't be able to accompany her. During breakfast on Monday, she announced out of the blue that she was ready for a helicopter ride. Sweetie sent our neighbor an email, and he gave us a call early that evening. We were to meet him in the field between our houses in fifteen minutes.

Pipsqueak couldn't have picked a better time... the air was still, the evening was warm and the colors were spectacular. After some flight instructions, she got buckled in and off they flew. She loved it, and informed us that she wants a helicopter now.

Brilliant Color

We have had the best and longest lasting foliage color that we've enjoyed in recent memory. I have to share a few more photos. I took all these while standing in one stop and shooting in different directions.




I promise a truly uplifting post tomorrow.

The Third Thing

Have you heard that expression that bad things happen in threes? I'm not a superstitious person, but it does seem to happen that way. Sometimes just one bad thing happens, but if a second one happens, a third always seems to follow.

This morning, a friend of mine told me that her washing machine broke down last week. She was told it would be more expensive to fix than replace. This weekend, their fridge broke down. They decided to replace that too, but were told that the one they wanted would take two to three weeks to arrive. A family of four cannot live out of coolers for that long. They chose one that was in stock, and went with their truck to pick it up. Their truck broke down in the parking lot. Their luck will change now. It's the power of three.

I'm trying to figure out if I've had my three or if I've got another coming. My sister in law was diagnosed with breast cancer and my uncle died. My plantar faciitis doesn't equal those in severity, so I'm not sure if things will turn up yet or not.

I apologize for this gloomy, doomsday posting, but I think I'm going to feel a little down for a few days. Rest assured, I will rally. I always do. I wouldn't post at all, but if I want my free lip balm through NaBloWriMo, I have to post everyday.

Foliage Tour

My uncle died this morning, so I'm not in a state of mind to write anything instructive, informative or entertaining. I thought it would be a good day to take you on a fall foliage tour. Sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.

The view from Pipsqueak's bedroom window.

A long and winding road.

A long and straight road.

Taken through a peek-hole in a covered bridge.

Tall and majestic.

Almost home.

The view from our deck.

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.

- Emily Dickinson, Nature XXVII, Autumn.