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Archive for the ‘Photographs’ Category

Several years ago, a good friend offered me an old pie safe that belonged to his sister, who had recently died. Honored by his offer, and in dire need of a little extra cabinet space in my humble kitchen, I accepted. This unique piece did kitchen duty for several years until I moved to Huntsville, where I found a home with plenty of cabinet space. The pie safe accepted its new assignment as eccentric bookshelf/knickknack area.

One thing that always bothered me about the pie safe was the drawer on the bottom. It didn’t belong there. It wasn’t made out of the same aged wood, and it was much more stylized than any other part of the cabinetry. It seemed like it was added as an afterthought, perhaps as a replacement for another drawer that had fallen apart.

I bought new drawer pulls for it at Anthropologie a few months ago, but all they did was emphasize its non-belongingness. Another plan was in order.

Yesterday, I finally fixed it. I toured the garage until I found a piece of suitably aged wood (my garage is, indeed, full of surprises) that only needed one cut to fit the drawer opening. After worming my way underneath the pie safe, I secured the board from the back with three beige deck screws (you can’t see them).

Voila! It’s as if the mismatched drawer never existed.

My love of Anthropologie’s cabinet hardware collection was satisfied, as I installed two bright, bubbly pulls on the pie safe doors.

It’s always been a fun piece, but I think I’ve managed to update it without changing its overall character.

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One of my favorite local farmers, the guy who sells tomatoes and whatnot out of the back of his truck in front of Hartlex Antiques in Madison, Ala., warned me last week that the watermelons weren’t all that this summer, but I had a jones and could not easily be talked out of buying one.

I’ve had worse watermelons, but this one was nothing to brag about. Its texture was good, but it just wasn’t very sweet. I’m pretty much the only person in the house who scarfs down watermelons, save for one misguided cat, so I had a lot of mediocre melon to account for.

Luckily, my mom and I had recently discussed sorbet. Mission acquired.

I ended up using a recipe from a blog called Mmm … That’s Good! because it was one of the few that didn’t require lime zest. It did call for the use of my ice cream freezer, which I’m trying to break out more often this summer.

My watermelon sorbet did not fare well. It emerged from the ice cream freezer a sweet, soupy mess, resembling a half-melted ICEE more than sorbet.

Delicious? Yes. Scoopable? No.

Now it’s granita, waiting in the freezer for me to scrape it into fine, pink crystals with a fork and scoop it into my grandmother’s awesome green sherbet glasses. And I have no more excuses to avoid buying mediocre watermelons.

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No, Pier 1 Cat, it is NOT fair for something that is so reminiscent of fall to arrive in the CSA box during the hot, hot first week of August. We should be double-checking the marshmallow stocks and finding new ways to dodge trick-or-treaters with this gem on the fireplace mantel.

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Everything anyone needs to know about me as a little girl is reflected in my favorite childhood tea set, recently rescued from the highest shelves of my grandmother’s hall closet by my mom.

Made of unbreakable, dishwasher-safe Tupperware, it’s decidedly non-delicate, perfect for non-delicate little girls. It showcased an array of gaudy colors, as did I. It included only four teacups, because how many stuffed animals do you expect one little girl to serve tea to at once when there are so many books to be read?

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I can’t believe I ignored eggplant until this summer.

This weekend’s creation was much simpler than Eggplant Parmesan, taking probably a third of the time to make and leaving me with no baked-on cheese to scrub away. I was worried that my half-Italian, tomato-living husband wasn’t going to touch the weird-looking Eggplant Pasta Sauce that I put on the table, but he gave it high accolades.

A word of warning: Mashed eggplant is a gray, oil-looking mess, but the sun-dried tomatoes and garlic give it a complex flavor that will overcome your initial impressions.

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Fine. I’m rough on sunglasses. I drop them, lose them and leave them on the edge of the kitchen counter, allowing cats to do gravity experiments on them.

My go-to plan for sunglasses has always been to simply keep a couple of cheap pairs lying around. My husband, who has had the same unharmed expensive sunglasses for more than five years, encouraged me to buy a nicer pair last year. Meaning a pair that cost more than (gasp) $30.

True to form, I dropped them, lost them and left them on the edge of the counter.

Some things you accept about yourself. Me, I’ve accepted that I go through a couple of $10 shades from Target every year. Really, there are worse personality traits.

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We finally made it to Lake Guntersville to see the bats emerging from Sauta Cave at dusk last weekend. We missed the group “batyaking” trip due to the husband working overtime, but since we had been waiting for nearly a year to see these bats (they only do their massive-flight thing during the summer), we dutifully loaded our kayak onto the truck and headed to the Guntersville Dam, where we schlepped the boat down a rocky pathway to the water.

Immediately, I realized why the batyakers make their trip in a big group on a Friday night: We were the only kayakers in a huge gathering of power boats ending their Saturday boating (on a holiday weekend, no less) with a trip to the bat cave.

And how much do I love saying “bat cave”?

The power boaters were the most polite boaters I’ve ever encountered, however, so we really had no worries mingling among them. The trip from the launching point at the dam to the bat cave (heh) took about 15 minutes at full kayaking speed; we got there at about 7:50 p.m.

We didn’t see any bats until around 8:15, when we started noticing them swooping around the boats like little X-wing fighters. No pics, because it was nearly dark when they emerged and they moved so fast that I didn’t even know where to aim the camera.

After about 30 minutes of action, the bats seemed to be finished, or maybe it was so dark we just couldn’t see them anymore. We kayaked back to the launching point in the dark, which was kind of scary yet awesome, and reloaded the kayak.

This is definitely must-see entertainment for North Alabamians with a canoe, kayak or other boat.

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The first CSA haul of the summer and I’m already faced with the unknown: eggplant. I guess because my grandfather never grew eggplants, I hardly ever ate them and certainly never had to figure out how to cook them.

Indulging my tendency to try things that are probably a bit too complicated, I settled on making Eggplant Parmesan, using a recipe from Martha Stewart.

That’s right. Martha Stewart.

It turned out delicious, even if it took the better part of two hours to make. I was unable to capture its deliciousness in a photograph, however; it’s one of those dishes that just looks like a big watery blob on the screen.

Next week I’m hoping for tomatoes, because juicy homegrown tomatoes have to be nature’s gift to us for putting up with heat like this.

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I don’t even know what to call this piece of furniture. Spice cabinet? Spice drawers? During its long tenure in my grandmother’s house, it was simply the blue drawers in the hallway; for adults, the holder of telephone books, for kids, the source of puzzles and books, pencils and paper.

I brought it home after my grandmother’s funeral last week, stuffing it into my tiny car along with a few photographs and a handful of handwritten recipes from the bottom kitchen drawer.

I asked for this piece long ago (my grandmother had been assigning artifacts to children and grandchildren alike for nearly three decades), choosing it over the fancier formal china cabinet that resided in the den and didn’t match my personality or decorating style any more than pineapple-topped bedposts.

Seriously, what’s with the pineapple-topped bedposts?

It’s in my office now, slightly cleaner thanks to a brief encounter with Murphy’s Oil Soap, but still bearing evidence of its age. Rather than puzzles and phone books, it holds the essentials of a perpetual graduate student. Mostly, though, it just holds memories, and I’m grateful that my husband maneuvered it into my car with mere inches to spare.

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I found this today behind the giant bathroom mirror I’m replacing. Who wallpapers an entire half bathroom with pastel-striped wallpaper? I don’t care if it WAS the ’80s. The room has a VERY high ceiling and that is a LOT OF STRIPES.

And the renovator who hung a mirror over it instead of taking it down with the rest? Let’s never meet in a dark alley.

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