Them

1. In a bowl, combine flour and confectioners' sugar; cut in butter until crumbly. Press into a lightly greased 13-in. x 9-in. x 2-in. baking pan. Bake at 350 degrees F for 10-12 minutes or until lightly browned. Cool on wire rack.
2. For filling, combine the eggs, sugar and vanilla in a bowl. Combine flour, baking powder and salt; add to the egg mixture. Stir in walnuts, cherries and coconut. Spread over crust. Bake for 20-25 minutes or until firm. Cool on a wire rack. Cut into bars.

NGREDIENTS

* 1 cup all-purpose flour
* 3 tablespoons confectioners' sugar
* 1/2 cup cold butter (no substitutes)
* FILLING:
* 2 eggs
* 1 cup sugar
* 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
* 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
* 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
* 1/4 teaspoon salt
* 3/4 cup chopped walnuts
* 1/2 cup quartered maraschino cherries
* 1/2 cup flaked coconut

Also, although I haven't seen the full review from Romantic Times yet, here's the excerpt from the Juno Books website:

"Escape to the fantastic and captivating three-tiered city Pagliassotti has created. The plot is intricate and has multilayered characters who perplex, entertain, and gratify. This is a wonderfully written book — one for the keeper shelf."

Oooh, I'm hoping that's gonna drive up sales a little! :-)

He knows there is a lot more to life than the fantasy novels on which his first efforts are (poorly) constructed, but he does not know enough to write another kind of novel. Still, he has made up his mind: eventually, he will write something grand, and fantastic, and he will graciously and humbly accept all of the accolades heaped upon him. Because it isn't about the attention; it is about the art. He doesn't know the phrase l'art pour l'art, but he believes he has internalized it as his koan.

His chapters are sometimes constructed of multiple paragraphs, and while he feels that some sort of romantic element should be included, he really has no idea what to do with it. That subplot will simply be tabled until the next draft.

Part II
B. is in his early twenties, home from another state and visiting with his family. The time and distance has not been kind, and he is wearied by life after the great college party. (Though, in fairness, he grew bored of those during his time of indoctrination.)

He is at home, but it is not home: though he spent a summer sleeping on his parents' couch in 1997, this was the house into which they moved after his high school graduation. His home is somewhere back on 507, gathering weeds. He's slowly building his own concept of home, in another state, in his adult life; it's slow going.

In the meantime, he runs a small website with an intrigued fanbase. Literarily bold and incisive, his work is an exploration of form, context and medium. His writer friends either stared, confused, or stared, consternated, as he had explained the concept of the infinite digital canvas and merging multiple tributaries of narrative text into a single river of thought.

His parents inform him: his little sister, finally in elementary school, has started working on a novel. He surreptitiously reads the first couple of paragraphs (heroine searching for her kidnapped older brother) and his heart breaks.

( Epilogue: May 13th, 2008 )

Am I packed yet? No. I do have quite a bit done though. After I'm finished editing this post, I'll be doing some more sorting (I almost feel like donating everything away!) and pack the remainder of boxes, perhaps, before daylight. I'm not able to sleep anyway.
Did I have to get my breast cyst drained a second time on Monday? Yes. The doctor said it's getting smaller and he's been able to press a lot of icky stuff out, but he described something about how part of it looks like a honeycomb. How poetic, in twisted doctor fashion.
Are we going three for three on Wednesday? Maybe. Most likely. Since I'm moving away on Saturday that doesn't give him much time to beat the infection, so here's hoping that the antibiotics combined with the DRAINAGE will make a difference.
Would I like some chocolate? Yes, please.

Historic Entrance to Trinity Bellwoods Park
I believe I've mentioned more than enough times how much I love this park. I feel incredibly lucky that Cliff was able to find a place in the same area, where, in fact, we'll be just as close to it as to where he lived before.

Recession! Don't you dare use that word!
I found this quote from a guardian article interesting:
"John Silvia, chief economist at the US bank Wachovia, said the rebate cheques were unlikely to be sufficient: "Does it help? Yes, but it doesn't really get you back to trend. It doesn't tackle fundamental problems such as housing or jobs." He said employment was a key long-term factor and the boost would not provide long-term satisfaction: "This is better than kissing your sister but it's not like having a good time."

[22 January 2008]

Current Mood:

stressed

The lone drake, upended,
nibbles the pond bottom,
red legs paddling the air.

He sleeps on the rock wall
by the spillway, balanced
on one foot, head hidden.

In the shadowed shallows
under sycamore boughs
the encircling ripples

have one center: himself.
Intruders, including
mallards of his own race,

beautiful strangers, drive
him to frenzied attack,
quacking, snapping, churning

the pond. When they have gone
bright wavelets unbroken
to the rim spread around him.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but I must inform you of a small matter. A bomb has been found outside of the conference center, I am afraid we must evacuate at once."

The man nods anyway. "A World War II bomb, the construction crew found it." We'd seen (and not heard) the construction crews working outside the windows all day; any doubt we had was immediately erased. "Please gather your things and ( evacuate ... )

I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around it; the story sounds as though it should have happened to someone else. And yet, I was in the right place at the ... well, at an interesting time, if not the right one.

oponn

The kids collected injuries like they were rare stamps, waiting to be claimed: Knocked heads, skinned knees, bruised shins, scratched noses, bruised cheeks... They weren't even being particularly rowdy, it was all just not paying attention and tripping over or running into stuff, including each other.

Nemo was being particularly noisy over a shin bruise she got, Sue & I were a little worried that it might be more than a bruise, as she cried when she put weight on it, but not consistently. Sue sat her on the bed and Bev gave her some kid's ibruprofen.
TWO seconds after drinking it, Nemo is all "It's all better!" (Sue makes strangling motion). Later I hear "Mommy, Bev's a HERO!"

Cute. Goats got hoof clippings, though not good ones, as I ended up doing it myself as Mike had sequestered himself with a fierce round of allergies. Helped people in the yard a bit and gave the kids a ride on the wagon. We had the goats out and they were eating things they weren't supposed to, so I tied them to the wagon as well. Not the best idea, as the wagon tipped over, likely due to the goats, dumping Mercy & Nemo into the dirt. Ironically, no injusries that time, though I had to wipe off Mercy's tongue, as she got a mouthfull of sod. *trying not to laugh*

The best was after Mercy skinned her knee, & kept saying 'owieowieowie' more for attention than any pain. Charlie's all "Bev, get the saw, we'll have to cut it off." Bev goes aroudn back to get it.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Mercy sprints, without limping, to the other side of the house to stop her. Bwahahaha.

Anyway, a much-needed break from a very big pile of work that needs doing. Thank you, Sue, for coming out!

Current Mood:

tired

Scott and I were talking about it in the kitchen today and I said "You know, the good thing about both of our families is that if one of us got really sick grandmas would be getting on planes."

Scott agreed with me. I told him that my mother's club would swing into action.

I then got this picture in my head of a bunch of women in 1950's dress with those aprons that you pull over your head. They're all milling around a big kitchen when one of them suddenly stops and softly claps her hands.

"Ladies? Ladies! Emergency stations! Code C! Thelma? Get the Freezes Beautifully cookbook. June? Start browning hamburger please. Marion? Activate the phone tree."

Then about 15 minutes later they all decent on the ailing person's house with casserole dishes and dust mops to whisk children off to be played with, pat hands, vacuum and fill the freezer. They post a schedule of who will be coming to help look after the kids in the afternoons, put one of the casseroles in the oven, kiss everyone and say "We're just a phone call away!"

They fix their lipstick and zip off to start a small change collection fund for the family.

I'd be the one chopping onions.