Last bit of summer

It’s still hot.  We've been sleeping under sheets.  These balmy nights followed by cottony, humid mornings have turned my lingering green tomatoes into pretty, orange rubies.  Sweet like candy.  I have to pick them when Jane is at school, otherwise I am left with empty hands, stained faces, and one too many little sticky fingers.  Late on Sunday afternoon we gathered enough for a meal.  Doused with oil, and a fistful of Greek oregano, I roasted them just enough to pop.  Pureed and dumped over pasta, it turned out to be the type of meal I will be dreaming of this February as I scurry about in wool socks wondering why we live in such an old, cold house.

Here is the (rough) recipe.

20-30 cherry tomatoes

one very small onion, thinly sliced

¼ of a red pepper, sliced

2 or 3 cloves of garlic, pressed

extra virgin olive oil

sea salt

cracked pepper to taste

large fistful of torn, fresh oregano

basil, 5-7 large leaves

Slice tomatoes, onion, and red pepper.  Mix together with pressed garlic and spread on a baking sheet or pizza pan.  Drizzle tomato mixture generously with olive oil.  Sprinkle with sea salt, cracked pepper, and torn oregano.  Broil on low setting for approximately 10 minutes.  Scrape and turn mixture, then broil for another 10 minutes until vegetables are bubbling, golden, and slightly charred.

Dump roasted veggies and juices into food processor. Add torn fresh basil.  Pulse chop until thick and soupy.  Toss over hot pasta.

He sleeps

We are in the middle of a marathon.  One in which we see how long we can survive without our two-year-old taking a nap.  If winning criteria was based on public meltdowns, hours spent bent over the crib back-rubbing, or number of times I have asked Henry to stop hitting his sister with a toy vehicle, we would win.

There have been a lot of changes going on around here, seeing it's September.  Topping the list, a switch from nursery school to public Kindergarten for Jane.  And summer is over.  But the biggest change September has ushered in is Henry has stopped napping.  We forgot his pacifier on the Vineyard.  You’d think we’d have another one around, but we don’t.  So when we pulled in the driveway at 10pm, Nukless, we decided to pull the plug.  He hasn’t napped a wink since.  And he is tired.  So very tired.  But truly, I can’t get him to sleep.

I remember the days of wrapping a much smaller Henry like a little burrito.  Snug in an airy, cotton blanket, arms tucked deep inside.  Peaceful.  Lashes bobbing heavily in dim light.  Early motherhood is dappled with memories of getting children to sleep.  Watching them nod off to a stream of songs, rocking, walking, nursing.  Waiting for lids to flutter one last time.  Soft, raspy breathing.  The rise and fall of a tiny chest.  Then creeping out the door.

I have solely relied on naps to get any artwork (or any anything for that matter) done.  I know navigating naplessness is a change all parents go through, and in the long run, these milestones pass quickly.  But, really, it’s trying my patience.  And making me yearn for times when I could fit him squarely in my lap.  Rock us to quiet.  Control the framework of our day.

I am not sure how long this will take, but for now, thank goodness, its night.  And finally, Henry sleeps.

{Preview} Once in a blue moon

What were the chances?  I hadn’t seen Sara in 14 years.  We went to college together, one year apart, and I always had a soft spot for her.  One of my favorites.  But we hadn’t spoken a word since graduation.  Then out of nowhere, a friend of a friend of a friend … a connection was made and I was driving to the cape with my camera.

I pulled up.  Beautiful Sara, barefoot in grass, looked exactly the same.  Bright.  Huge smile.  A halo of sun.  Only difference:  a gaggle of little girls was trailing behind her.  Rolled up in ringlets and hot pink glasses.  Freckles, milked skin, tiny buttons, and bubble wands.   A little parade of perfection.

What were the chances?

Late August Pickles

When I was pregnant with Henry, I used to stumble downstairs at six am with Janie in tow and start the day with a pickle and 8 ounce can of coke.  This recipe is really good, pregnant or not, and will help if you have an abundance of mini cukes growing in your late August garden late like we do.

Spicy Garlic Refrigerator Pickles

Adapted from AllRecipes.com

6 or 7 pickling cucumbers, sliced

1 ¼ cup water

1 ¼ cups white vinegar

3/4 cup chopped fresh dill weed

2 tablespoons sugar

3 cloves garlic, chopped

3/4 tablespoon coarse salt

1 tablespoon ground mustard

1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns

In a large bowl, combine the cucumbers, water, vinegar, chopped dill, sugar, garlic, mustard, and peppercorns.  Stir and let stand at room temperature for 2 hours, until the sugar and salt dissolve.

Remove the cucumbers to glass jars (I used clean, recycled pickle jars).  Ladle in the liquid from the bowl to cover.  Seal with lid.  Refrigerate for 10 days before eating – or try that same day like we did.  Eat pickles within 1 month. 

Day Ten

This morning the grey settled on us like a blanket.  Day ten of our eleven-day stay.  Like a cool cloth on fevered skin, it eased the fury.  Nine days prior had been streaked with white sun, salted hair, heated cheeks.  Clunking sand toys, swooshing nets, cannonballs.  A whirring buzz.  Then today.  Balmy air and gentle skies broke, summons to gaze at the bottom of tidal pools, creep over mossed rocks, drink lavender skies.  Listen.  Even the kids moved slowly.  Watched the reel drag silver across green, while we mindlessly dipped fingers and toes. 

Tomorrow is day eleven.  We’ll tuck our memories and aching hearts deep into the bottom of a huge, bulky bag and head home into the August air.  Air that already licks us with fall.  We’ll wonder how it went both so fast, and so slow.  And all winter long, I will dream of that green pond water.  Liquid.  Warm.  Gleaming.

Eye of the summer

We barely saw the outside of the house this week, between the heat wave and a nasty bout of the flu that gripped our house.  While we lay dormant, the yard turned to jungle fed on the power of late July.  We stepped outside to a tangle of grass, bees, blinding sunshine.  Tomatoes bleeding orange from the deep heat, butternut vines creeping like hunters through burnt grass.  Echinacea full and heavy, hundreds of crowned spiky heads bowing in worship to the dead of summer sun.  And cabbage swirling itself into a river of rippled taffy, kneading wave upon wave to a knot of crimson.  Enough beauty to take your breath away.  Especially when you’ve been stuck in artificially chilled air for seven days.