We’ve lived here for 8 years, and today we got our first (and so far only) trick-or-treater.

We’ll ignore the fact that her parents had to drive half an hour to bring her, and just enjoy how adorable she is.

What do you mean Grandmom doesn’t want us on her chair?!

Sometimes I get in the mood for a specific type of book. Recently, it’s been mysteries. But not cozies. Sorry cozy authors. My grandmother may love you, but you’re generally not my thing. I’d much rather have blood and guts and action. Kinda like the opposite of my life.

Anyway.

In my search for something I like, I stumbled upon Dana Stabenow‘s Kate Shugak series.

I’d read anthologies edited by Dana Stabenow, but had no idea she wrote mysteries, so when I stumbled across A Taint in the Blood I decided to pick it up and see if I liked it.

I did.

Kate Shugak lives in “The Park” in Alaska. Earlier in the series apparently she lived in Anchorage working for law enforcement, but at the point I wandered into the series she’d moved back to Niniltna and was working occasional investigations as her services were needed.

She’s a strong and independent woman who decides what she wants and goes after it. My favorite kind of heroine. She’s got flaws, and she recognizes this fact, but doesn’t let that keep her from being herself.

She’s also not afraid to bend the law in her search for justice. That always makes for an interesting moral dilemma when well done.

The secondary characters are also well done–they are distinct personalities, and I can usually tell by the dialog which characters are which. Always a strength in any book.

Now I’ve got a thing about series. I don’t often like to go backwards in a series (unless the series is written in such a way that book order is immaterial) and seeing that there were Bad Things in Kate’s past made me even more reluctant to go back in the series. However, after having read forward as far as I could, I decided to go back to just after the Very Bad Thing and work my way forward. That worked out quite well, except for the fact that I am now, once again, out of Kate Shugak books to read.

Grandmom hasn’t read any of these books yet, and I’m not sure if she will or not. There is boinking–although not a lot, and it’s not an all consuming part of the story. I think she might like them though; we’ll have to see.

The other nice thing about this series is that you can easily pick up any book and start the series. Kate does grow and change through the series, but you are given enough background that you don’t get lost without knowledge of what has gone previously. Again, another sign of good writing.

I have no idea how her portrayal of Alaska is–Dana Stabenow obviously loves where she lives–and I almost don’t want to know, because the mysteries are thoroughly enjoyable, and if they’re not as good as I hope, I don’t think I want to know.

Kate Shugak: Midnight Come Again (2000), The Singing of the Dead (2001), A Fine and Bitter Snow (2002), A Grave Denied (2003), A Taint in the Blood (2004), A Deeper Sleep (2007)

Came across a very disturbing article today. Girls as young as 11 are being diagnosed with breast cancer. How surprising is this? According to the article, “Only about 7 percent of breast cancer cases occur in patients under the age of 40.”

That’s a really small incidence rate for a very large percentage of the population.

The cases mentioned in the article occurred in girls with no family history of breast cancer. Often women with the BRCA1 or 2 genes develop breast cancer earlier than most women, but by earlier, that means their 20s and 30s, not before they have even reached puberty.

The article does not speculate as to the possible cases of these cases of breast cancer in young girls, but one has to wonder whether whether the chemicals in our food and water (hormones used to affect milk in cows jump immediately to mind) are leading to this affect.

Is there any direct evidence linking chemicals and hormones in the diet to reduced age and puberty and increased incidence of breast cancer? No. But we don’t seem to have any direct causal evidence, which would lead me–if I were a mother–to try and avoid these chemicals in my home and in the diet of my children.

But I’m not writing to point fingers. I’m writing because this is something that parents need to be aware of. If you have daughters–or know someone with daughters–please share this information with them.

It’s word association time!!!!!

Today’s word: carriage

I do not think it means what you think it means.

female big brust picture
I’m not sure how Steven Brust would feel about that.

james madison admitted states to union
All by himself?

I just realized that my web host is only saving the top twenty search terms. Why on earth would I want just the top twenty? The weird ones appear only once.

Everyone needs a little silliness in their lives.

I love cinnamon rolls. Of course, I love them with walnuts and cream cheese icing, which are Right Out for Grandmom, so we I made plain ones.

Which are still really good.

Cinnamon Rolls
Dough:
3 1/2 cups white wheat flour
2 tsp yeast
3 tbsp sugar
2 tbsp dry milk
1 1/4 tsp salt
1 large egg plus water to make one cup liquid
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 tbsp softened butter
Filling:
1/4 cup softened butter
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 tbsp cinnamon (3 tsp if you tbsp doesn’t fit in the jar)
Icing:
2 tbsp half and half
1 cup confectioners sugar

I wasn’t thrilled with the way the dough was made. If I make it again I believe I’d proof the yeast as part of the process. As it was the directions had you simply mix everything together to form a smooth soft dough. Next time I’d proof the yeast in part of the water, then add in the remainder of the ingredients together.

Place the dough in a large greased bowl, over, and then allow to rise for at least an hour. Mine rose for closer to two hours, since I had other things going on.

Make the filling. I didn’t follow the directions at all here. Instead, I beat the butter, sugar, and cinnamon with the paddle attachment of my mixer, until I had a soft uniform spread.

Once the dough has risen, roll it out into a rectangle.

Spread the filling over the rolled out dough, leaving a strip of dough on the far end uncovered.

Roll the dough to make a log.

Move the dough to a cutting board (I destroyed a rolling mat once when I forgot to do this) and then slice the dough with a serrated knife.

Place the rolls in a greased pan. I used a stoneware pan here and made the full batch, however, I usually grease two 8″ round cake pans, and place one in the freezer for later.

Since I wanted to rolls for breakfast, I then covered the rolls in plastic wrap and then foil, and placed them in the refrigerator overnight.

Place the rolls in a warm oven that is off to allow them to rise for about an hour, or longer, as needed.

Bake at 350 for 20 minutes.

Cool for about ten minutes, than cover with icing.

Eat!

Recipe is modified from The King Arthur Flour Baker’s Companion

A post of Eric’s lead me to MSNBC’s “Most Offensive Costumes of 2009” and although one or two of them may have qualified as offensive, I thought most of them were actually hilarious.

I mean, a Bernie Madoff costume? That’s not offensive, that’s hilarious!

This on the other hand, is both offensive and hilarious. (NOTE: If you aren’t a WVU fan, you probably won’t get the joke. Also, totally safe for work.)
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We’ve apparently had the right amount of rain and perfect temperatures here for fall color in my yard.

Burning bush and sugar maple.

Sugar maple–my favorite tree in our yard.

We got Kit by accident.

We’d gone to the Stonewall Jackson craft fail Labor Day weekend with my parents, and on the way home, my dad wanted to stop at a pet supply store in Clarksburg to check out their fish supplies.

Michael and I wandered around the store, and found in the back corner a set of cages, one cage had a ferret, but the cage about it had kittens.

“Someone abandoned them outside,” the salesperson said. “I think they’re only about four weeks old.”

“We don’t need another cat,” I said, “but thanks.”

“But look at this one!” said Michael. “Look at its face! Look how cute!”

“But we don’t need another cat. We already have a cat.”

“That really is an adorable cat,” said my mother.

In the end, I admitted defeat and we brought had ourselves a new kitten.

Did I mention the kittens were above a ferret cage? They were. She stunk for the first couple weeks we had her. Kat hated her, and hissed and got a big fat bushy tail and generally wanted nothing to do with her. Until he suddenly decided that maybe she was okay.

Of course, as soon as we took her to the vet, Kat hated her again when we got back, until he–again–decided she was okay. This has happened any time she’s gone to the vet alone. She comes back, and Kat wants nothing to do with her for a couple days. Then suddenly he’s over it.

Because she was so young when we got her, she has issues. She likes to lick, but mostly she has this thing about paper. Any kind of paper. She’ll stand on the paper and then dig and dig and dig and dig–never using her claws, just rubbing her paws back and forth.

And she’s also obsessed with water glasses, believing they need to be tipped over.

But she’s sweet natured and affectionate, which combined with her cuteness has saved her when she’s dumped a large glass of water on the floor or furniture or my head and three in the morning.

When we got our Fiestaware dishes, I no longer have any need of our old dishes, which have been sitting waiting for me to do something with them.

They’re Mikasa and I’ve got plates, bowls, mugs etc, all in excellent condition.

If you know anyone in need of a set of dishes, send them my way.

Yes, I know I could probably sell them on e-bay, but I’d rather give them to someone who needs them.

Today’s word is:

toddler

I’m a big fan of pumpkin, and pumpkin pie is probably Michael favorite food, although it may be tied with peanut butter, so every year, I get pie pumpkins and cook them down for pies and various pumpkin goodies throughout the year

I picked up pumpkins several weeks ago, but didn’t get to cook them down until today, which meant that one of them had gone bad in the interim. Luckily, it’s still early, so I can pick up more pumpkins next week if need be.

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Late and delicious breakfast, relaxed stroll, massage, and then a hot shower.

All Mondays should be like this. Hope yours is good, even if it’s not this fabulous.

Despite the assurances of the Disney Express man at the airport, I am not “dazzled” by our hotel.

However, I’m didn’t come to be dazzled, I came to relax and eat. And the salmon I had for dinner was fabulous. So there you go.

Let’s hope tomorrow’s meals are just as good–and that I can get a spa appointment…

Also? It’s surprisingly cool in Florida. Which is fine with me, since I hate the heat.

Also, either our hotel was built by midgets, or they were trying to do it on the cheap, because I can touch the ceilings without stretching.

But tomorrow? Tomorrow starts the relaxing.

Once Michael and I moved to an apartment that allowed pets, I wanted to get a cat. So in 1998, on my birthday, we went outside the city and picked out Kat.

Now let’s let’s go back a couple decades…

On my 4th birthday, I had been playing outside when I appeared at the door holding a gray cat, and saying, “Look! I got cat for my birthday!”

Despite my parent’s best efforts, no on in the neighborhood would claim him, so Smokey came to live with us. They got him fixed and all his shots and he joined the family, consisting of me, my parents, and Ari the dachshund.

One of the first things Smokey did was claw the kitchen chairs. So was taken to the vet to get declawed. (I think my parents were also concerned that he might scratch me.)

Unfortunately, one night–in the middle of the night of course, when everyone was sound asleep–there was a commotion in the basement. A very loud commotion. A crashing and crunching and rattling and rolling commotion.

My parents rushed downstairs to discover that Smokey had used his back claws to shred a 50 lb bag of dog kibble, which then cascaded down the wooden basement stairs.

Smokey quickly went to live somewhere else.

Thus, I wasn’t sure if it was auspicious or not when we got Kat on my birthday. Yet despite his really bad attitude (which to be honest, is not all entirely his fault), I’ve enjoyed having him around, and hope he stays healthy so we can keep him around for awhile longer.

Avery at Stereo Describes my Scenario recently went to see the film Good Hair, and as usual when the subject of hair comes up, it got me thinking.

For those of you who have not met me, I have very thick, very curly hair. I’ve always had people tell me they wish they had my hair, and although I’ve come to terms with it in recent years, I don’t think I’ll every say that I love my hair.

When I was a toddler I had straight blond hair. As I grew up, I got lots of bristle brushes, and whatever other utensils my mom would use for her hair. And whatever shampoo was on sale.

If you have curly hair, you can probably see where this is going: My hair was a mess.

All the time.

It’d tangle if you looked at it funny. It would never lie flat and neat, but would instead fly away and generally look like a mare’s nest.

Add to the mix the fact that I was a tomboy. Pull my hair into a ponytail to keep it out of the way and keep the tangles to a minimum and I was good.

My mom, however, hated my hair, and in 7th grade she ordered me to get my hair cut off. And I do mean ordered. I walked up to the barber shop, put my name on the list, and when Larry asked what I needed, I burst into tears and said I had to get my hair cut off.

Larry told me to have a seat and he’d get back to me. Then he went off and called my Dad. “Your daughter is in here crying saying I have to cut her hair off.” That’s how things were, my Dad said. So I sat there and Larry waited until everyone else had left the store and then he cut my hair. Before he started, he pulled out a baggie and told me I could keep the hair if I wanted.

I did.

But a funny thing happened as he cut. The hair my mom had always treated as just a little bit wavy stared popping up curls all over the place when he cut it. He was shocked at how curly it was, and I remember him commenting that no wonder I had problems with it.

That should have been the end of things.

But it wasn’t.

No one ever told me you had to care for curly hair differently than straight hair.

Needless to say, things didn’t get much better.

In high school I ended up cutting my hair extremely short (hey, it was the late 80s. That was the thing to do anyway) and I discovered that if I used mousse I could reduce the volume a bit. Of course this left me with crunchy hair, but in my opinion, crunchy was far better than the alternative.

To be honest, I was in my 20s before I learned that you have to treat curly hair very differently from straight hair.

Once I truly started to understand this, my world changed completely. I suddenly had the ability to get my hair to behave the way I wanted–or at the very least keep from turning into a mass of knots when I wasn’t paying attention.

As I said, I still don’t love my hair, but I’ve come to terms with it. I spend a lot of money on expensive shampoos and conditioners and treatments and anti-frizz serums and creams and gels that moisturize my hair and help tame it. And half the time I still get giant hair. But I’ve also learned that the perfect length is where I can pull it back into a ponytail if it gets too bad.

All of this is to say I don’t quite get why hair is a racial issue. My hair has been a hassle most of my life. If I could have hair that was easy to take care of, why wouldn’t I want that? I never wanted straight hair because that’s what all the models and movie stars had. I just wanted straight hair so it wouldn’t hurt when I ran a brush through it. I’ve always figured that’s all anyone else would want as well.

Just an update for those of you not playing along here in Morgantown, the Mountaineer Week Craft Fair is November 13, 14 & 15.

That means there will be FUNNEL CAKE in front of the Lair. WOO!

Today’s word is…

remote

Since Jim is suffering from a humor fail:

We’ve got apples, but I just didn’t feel up to making a pie or a crumble or anything like that, so I looked up a recipe for apple cookies. I had to make several adjustments, some for Grandmom’s diet and some for what ingredients I had available, but all in all, they turned out pretty well.
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Don’t forget to add your entries for the Vogon Poetry Slam!

Multiple entries will be accepted. Whether I want to or not.

At about 7:10 Sunday night, as I was pulling the last batch of cookies from the oven, I looked at the refrigerator and noticed the Kathy Mattea tickets.

For 7:30.

Luckily, we live very close to the CAC, so we weren’t even late.

For those of you who don’t know who Kathy Mattea is, she’s a singer-songwriter-guitarist from West Virginia (Cross Lanes) who went to Nashville to make a name for herself.

As a WVU native, and as someone who went to WVU, she was very excited to be playing in Morgantown, and had stories about her time at WVU (she was here when some students added the “flush handle” to the CAC one night).

But of course it was mostly about the music. She has a fabulous voice. I mean really. She did a couple of acapella pieces (including one by Hazel Dickens) that were marvelous.

She’s out touring for her latest album, Coal, which she started to put together after the Sago Mine disaster in 2006, and as she joked, it made for a somewhat melancholy set, so she did play other pieces. The last piece they played sounded like an Irish reel and may have been my favorite piece of the night.

I’m not sure how widely she’s touring, but if she comes to your area, I highly recommend you go see her.