it IS all it's cracked up to be.

This dog fostering thing can really suck sometimes. Sometimes they chew up a shoe or a window sill. Sometimes they dig a hole in the yard. Once or twice they've had accidents on the floor. Occasionally they bark or whine. And then every once in a while they make you fall in love with them so hard that it just nearly rips your heart out to let them go. Is it worth it? Yes. Do I still hate it? Yes. Would I recommend it? Absolutely.

We kept the first dog we ever fostered. Not a good sign of our ability to let go. But we kept at it. The first few were horribly hard to say goodbye to. The second one even went to our dear friends and I still stayed in bed for a day and cried. Then it started to get easier. Soon I was able to happily take them to their new homes and just leave with no ache at all. I don't think I was becoming hard hearted, I was just becoming more able to see the many positives: happy dog, happy family, and a new space in my home to save another dog in need. Win, win, win. But occasionally a dog would come along who, for some reason or another, got under my skin. We've fostered 200+ dogs over the last 12 years and aside from those first couple, that I think were actually the foster learning curve, there have been maybe three that were just really hard to part with (aside from the few that we, um, did not in fact part with). Let's see, there was a tiny, hairless pit bull who made me cry my eyes out in the middle of the shelter. Something you might think would happen a lot but had actually only happened once before when I accidentally witnessed the mountain of euthanized dogs being loaded onto a truck for cremation. Then there was the great dane who was so attached to me that he ripped down the blinds of his new home as I walked away from his home visit. And then there is Bernadette.

 I almost start off saying "I don't know what it is about her", but I know exactly what it is about her - she is that kind of dog that makes you feel special.  She makes you feel needed and wanted.  She looks at you with these soulful eyes that say "All I want in this world is you".  I dare you to try parting with that.  I'm not kidding you, it's making me feel sick.  Lots of my friends have said "just keep her", "whats one more?"  But man, have you ever tried buying food and heartworm pills and paying for vet bills for 12+ animals?  It ain't easy.  And then there is the whole attention thing - when you have this many animals are any of them really getting the attention they need and deserve?  So the right answer is to find her a wonderful home where she will get ALL the attention and ALL the love.  I can do that.  It's gonna suck, but I can do it.  And another dog will need to be rescued.  And I will have a space.

 But seriously, how freakin' cute is she!?!?!?!  Come on! 

Now that I have made this fostering thing sound just like a barrel of laughs I'm sure you'll be rushing out to find your nearest rescue group to volunteer with.  You should.  You will not regret it.  How can you regret saving a life?

can we talk?

A few weeks ago I was reading one of the blogs I like and she had a post, top five things to be a good blogger, or something like that. One of the things was don't complain. Or was it don't whine? Anyway, I get it. People have their own issues, they read blogs as an escape. That's why I read the blogs I read. But I thought about it, and the blogs I love most are at their core, real. And sometimes they whine. And I'm okay with that. It makes them real, makes me feel like I know them, like we could be friends. Ok, before I start to sound like some weirdo who thinks she's "friends" with a bunch of people she's never met, in a nutshell, I relate. And isn't that also one of the things we love about blogs? Relating. Reading about people who are dealing with the same things we are, whose lives are as nutty as our own, makes you feel a little less alone, right?

So, with that exhausting intro said and done I can now get to my point. I am overwhelmed with a capital Oh my God am I overwhelmed. I see my life in four large chunks: Work, Blue Dog Rescue, Family, and Friends. And right this minute they are all in overdrive. I can handle it when one is high maintenance. Even when two are. Three and things start to get a little iffy. All four, well, I'm just gonna start to suck at everything then.

 I read this book a long time ago by Leo Buscaglia. It was called Love. There was a part in it that was about the broad based education in the school system, but I think it applies to a lot of different aspects of life. So he lays it out like this: there's this school in the forrest...Squirrels, birds, fish, turtles, rabbits, etc. The squirrels are great at tree climbing, birds excel at flying, fish at swimming, and so on. But then the broad based education is implemented. The fish has to learn to fly, the bird to tree climb, the squirrel to swim. All of the sudden the bird who used to get an A in flying is getting a C in flying because she broke her wing in tree climbing and she is still getting an F in swimming. My point: instead of doing one thing well I feel like I'm doing everything half ass. What to do? Honestly? I've got no ideas other than ride out the storm or drop one of the balls I'm juggling. 

At least I'm not bored, right?

Kid With The Best Mom

I am sure there are a lot of you out there that will say "I have the best mom ever".  I hope there are.  But I might fight you for the title - Kid With The Best Mom.

I was just three years old when my parents divorced.  I'm not gonna get into why they divorced and all that, let me just say that a lot of women might wallow, be bitter, and begin to settle for less than they deserve after something like that.  My mom decided to go to grad school.  We packed up and moved away from any family, just the three of us - me, my mom, and our dog.  I was just barely six years old, my mom was a whopping 27.  Looking back I am amazed at the bravery that must have taken.  I honestly don't think I could ever have done it.

We were poor.  Poor with a capital P!  But I never knew it.  Never even suspected it.  Not because she spoiled me or bought me things.  She just never ever let me see her worry.  Again, when I look back there were signs.  Like when you open the freezer and out spills 20+ balls of tin foil filled stuffed bell peppers because bell peppers were on sale 20 for a dollar that week and ground meat and onions are cheep stuffin'!  But at the time I just thought my mom really liked bell peppers!

My mom let me be a kid.  There are a lot worse things out there than being poor and having divorced parents - but if your parents handle it wrong those two things can be much harder than they have to be.  I didn't spend a lot of time with my dad... again, don't need to get into that too much here, but there were times when that was hard on me.  I didn't understand.  It would have been really easy for my mom to make digs at him, at the very least not defend him.  But she defended him every time.  Every single time.  Because she knew it was best for me.  How in the word did she know that at 20-something?  I had friends in high school whose parents talked all kinds of shit about their former spouse to their kid, in front of their kid, to their ex in front of their kid.  Its appalling!  I truly cannot emphasize enough how insanely important it is to never, ever, ever let your kid hear a single bad word from one parent about the other.  I'll get off my soap box now, that's not what this is about, but take it from a kid of divorce - it matters.

Now I'm 40 and my mom is a speech pathologist who hammers bangles and does post office runs for me on her days off.  We spend time together because we want to, not because we feel obligated.  I could tell a million stories that would qualify me for the above title but I don't need to.  As long as I know I have THE best mom and as long as I make sure she knows that I know - well, that's all the matters.

Happy Mother's Day Mom.  I love you.

baking = medicine for the blahs

 I've had a serious case of the mean reds lately.  If you haven't seen Breakfast at Tiffany's...well, first, Why?  Second, go get it.  Now.  Third, the mean reds are this:

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat, and maybe it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

For me it's this impending doom feeling mainly because it just seems like icky stuff keeps happening.  Not the worst of the worst, I haven't lost all perspective.  My uncle recently had a heart transplant AND stem cell replacement, so I know what real difficulty is.  Mine are just a series of things - getting an email from a couple who wants to return the dogs (dogS, plural!) they adopted from us eight years ago.  EIGHT years people!  WTF?  getting pneumonia, losing our sweet kitty.  Stuff that sucks on their own but when you string them together over two weeks time you get a case of the mean reds.

 Luckily I have a bit of a remedy.  I bake.  When I was younger I would wallow.  Now, I bake.  It just makes me feel better.  There is the obvious reason - eating.  Who doesn't like to eat when they are down?  But that's not even my main reason, albeit a lovely side affect.  For me it's the satisfaction of building something from scratch.  Baking is a precise process.  It's not like cooking where you can throw stuff together and taste, adjust, taste, adjust.  Not that cooking isn't it's own art - it certainly is!  Anyway, I like the step by step of it all.  It takes focus.  So when you've got a case of the mean reds, focusing on something else is always a good thing.

Then watching your efforts transform, smelling that yeasty aroma, seeing a small ball of dough rise up and over the top of its bowl, watching gooey batter become a spongey little cake...oh, it's just happiness for me.

 Look at those pretty soon-to-be cupcakes with all of their little specks of vanilla beans!  Is that not just joy in a paper wrapper?  Mmm mmm mmm!

 You can easily throw your happy quotient right over the top by adding in sprinkles.  Who can be sad or scared or angry or blue when you have piles of sprinkles in front of you?  Sure, it's not a long term fix.  But it does the trick for a little bit.  And one good way to drag out that good feeling is to give away the goodies you make.  As I type I have dough rising in the kitchen that will soon become: a few rolls for Tom, or as he likes to call them "vehicles for honey", cinnamon rolls, and a loaf of bread.  A good half of the cinnamon rolls are headed to a friend who is pregnant.  I don't know why, I just wanted to make her some cinnamon rolls.

 So seriously, you've never seen Breakfast at Tiffany's?  Man.  That movie was a huge for me.  And I will never forget the first time I saw it.  I had moved to Lubbock to go to school at Texas Tech.  I was down, missing my parents, all that first-time-leaving-home stuff.  The first night I was there one of my dear friends (who I have known since I was six and she was two) came to my dorm with a sleeping bag in one arm and Breakfast at Tiffany's in the other.  She set up her sleeping bag in between my bed and my roommates bed and we all plopped down and watched the movie.  It was awesome.  I can't really tell you why, except that it IS.  But it was just a feeling that everything was gonna be ok, that I wasn't alone.  I guess I wrap all those warm fuzzies up in my feelings about this movie.  Thanks for that Nat.

Just to wrap up.  When you are feeling blue or red maybe you need a friend or maybe you need to bake or maybe you need to bake for a friend.  But I can tell you this for sure - all of the above work way better than that angsty wallowing I used to opt for!

pallet garden

 A few weeks ago I saw the coolest thing on Pinterest.  Hang on, let me back up.  I pretty much think Pinterest is the coolest thing,but I am trying to detox from it some...I was a tad bit obsessed for a couple of weeks.  Just ask Tom.  Anyway, I saw these pallet gardens - basically a ready made raised bed but even better because 1. they have built in rows  2. it's recycling  3. they are free  So it's win win win.  I had also seen on Pinterest that laying wet newspaper down over your weeds, grass, what-not, and then putting the dirt over it was a great way to stop the weeds from coming through.  So we pulled a double Pinterest and started installing these, maybe three weeks ago.

 We planted tomatoes, radishes, a couple peppers, tomatillos, okra, watermelon, lettuce, green beans, cucumbers, spinach, basil, oregano, thyme, chamomille, lavender...I think that's all.  We put in seven of these things!  I did reserve one for zinnias so that I could have cut flowers all summer.

Over Easter weekend we took Tom's mom to The Great Outdoors.  It's a fantastic nursery on South Congress here in Austin.  While we were there we came across these gorgeous Meyer Lemon trees.  Tom flipped out because he is such a lemon nut.  We snatched one up...but it's been sitting in the pot since then because we could not figure out where to put it where it would do well and be safe from the dogs, ahem, peeing on it.

Over the weekend Tom decided if her planted it in the middle of  a pallet the dogs wouldn't be able to get to it and we could just pop boards out as it grew.  Done.  It looked pretty lonely out there so we decided to turn the whole thing into a little garden for Daisy.  Tom's mom had given us some daisy seeds in our Easter basket, we got some varieties of daisy's from the nursery and we spent Sunday building this little garden for our girl.  I was thinking I might spread some of her ashes out there until my mom reminded me that she would absolutely hate being outside and would much prefer her ashes to be right in the closet where she belongs.  It made me giggle through my tears and I knew that she was right.  The garden is for us.

 

Tom turned one of the pallets on it's end, disassembled another pallet and used it's remains to put bottoms on the rows so that they would hold dirt and Voila! we have vertical gardening!  This is our little Daisy garden.  The daisy's are sharing space with strawberries, some herbs, and some nasturtiums.  It might not be a place Daisy would have spent time or even have known it existed.  But it will do Tom and I some good.

addendum::::: 

our little pallet got picked up by Hometalk!!!  How cool is that!?!?!  Check it out here!

Our first baby.

 I was 21 when I got Daisy.  She came from an ad in the paper, someone giving away kittens.  I was moving from an apartment into a house, my roommate had a cat (that's him in the photo), and I thought "I want a cat."  I didn't give much thought to vet bills, food, and the fact that she would be with me for the next 19 years.  Classic immature 21 year old who probably had no business getting acquiring a dependent.   But I did, happily, I did.  We lived in that house for a year and a half.  I still maintain that in that formative time she was shaped by Kim's less than normal cat, Taylor.  He was a dear, sweet cat, but odd.  They loved each other...she truly never liked another cat after him.

Then we moved back home, two cats there.  Didn't like them a bit.  After a couple of years we moved into an apartment where my new roommate got a little black kitten named Dream.  He was less than a dream.  There was an incident where Daisy was slowly, gingerly crawling into a plastic grocery bag.  She was not a terribly playful cat so I was loving watching her be so inquisitive.  Out of no where Dream pounced on the bag.  Daisy went flying, plastic bag and all, up the stairs, ripped her toenail out, and never came out of my bedroom after that.  That began a trend for my girl.  Each place we lived after that she claimed a room (or closet within a room) and that is where she stayed for the duration of her time in that home.  It was around this time that I met Tom.  Slowly Daisy and I moved our stuff out of that apartment and in with Tom.  Soon the three of us found an adorable little old house in the heart of Austin.  Daisy claimed the guest room in that house, I even painted her name on the door there.  We were there for one year and in that time managed to adopt our first dog (Seven) and our second cat (Berkatu aka Berklie).

In October of 1998 Tom and I bought a house and the five of us moved.  Daisy and I drove over together.  When she set foot into her new home I think her objective was to run as far as she could - that happened to be the closet in the master bedroom.  And there she stayed.  For the next 14 years.  She came out at night to sleep in bed with us.  And as she aged she ventured into the bedroom more during the day, but her home, her food, her bed, her litter box, it was all in the closet.  I can probably count on two hands the number of times she has left that room in the last 14 years.  Walking her out of that room yesterday morning was one of the hardest things I've ever done because I was pretty sure she wouldn't get to come back.

And she didn't.  We had to say goodbye to her at about 8:30 yesterday morning at our vet's office.  She was in renal failure.  It all just happened so fast.  I had no time to prepare.  It was just last week that I was writing about her birthday.  I'm in shock.

Daisy has been with me all of my adult life.  She was there when I met Tom.  She was there to see each new dog and cat be adopted into our odd little family.  She saw more than 200 foster dogs come and go.  How do you say goodbye to a life like that?  How do you let go?  How do you learn to live with out nightly battles over foot space and glasses of water?  It's been less than seven months since we lost Preacher and I'll be honest, I have not recovered from that yet.  I guess it's just time.  Time to settle in to a new normal.

I might recover, I will recover.  But I'll never get over the loss.  The empty space.

Dear Daisy,

Thank you for being my cat...even though in the last five years you decided that Tom was more your person that I was.  It's ok.  I thought it was cute.  The way you tugged at the covers until he let you under and you did that little turn around so that you were curled right against his chest with just your head sticking out.  Y'all were adorable.  Going to bed without you last night was excruciating.  We almost slept in the guest room.  Instead we stalled as long as possible.

Looking back there is not much I would change about our life together.  It was pretty great.  But I would let you sleep on my feet all night.  And I would let you stick your feet in my water if you want to.

My Daisy, my Razor Rae, my Maizer.  I will love you forever and ever and ever.
Sleep well crazy girl.
love,
mom

homemade vanilla

 A year or so ago I caught an episode of The Barefoot Contessa where she talked about making homemade vanilla.  I don't remember her actually making it, more just quickly running through the how to's.  Seriously, you can barely call it a recipe, its that easy. 

 Here it is:

12-24 vanila beans
vodka
a jar

That's it.  And all you do is split the beans, scrape the seeds, throw 'em in the jar, put the empty beans in the jar, cover it all with vodka, and shake.  Ms. Garten says it'll be ready in six months.  But I choose to believe this recipe, over at Zoe Bakes, that says five weeks.

I've been wanting to make it ever since I saw that BC episode, but I knew I'd have to take out a loan to get enough beans.  I finally caved when I needed another excuse to buy more Weck jars.  Which brings me to my new obsession.  Is it weird that I am obsessed with these jars?  Ok, maybe a little, but there are worse things.  Anyway, I wanted to get these mini carafes and knew they would be perfect for the vanilla.  And since Easter was just a few days away these were a perfect addition to my mom and mother-in-law's Easter baskets!

Since we have a minimum five week wait to test the extract I needed some instant gratification so I threw together a little homemade vanilla simple syrup.  I just tossed a few of the empty pods into a pan with equal parts water and sugar, brought it to a boil, just til the sugar dissolved.  We used it in lemonade, coke, and when it got a little low we added it to our creamer - instant flavored creamer with out all of the nasty hydrogenated this 'n that!  So that's what, three? fun things to do with vanilla beans?  And in a month or so I'll let you know what I'm doing with the extract itself!

'bout a week late

 So Easter.  I missed my Easter post.  I had plans to post photos from the cupcakapalooza, the lottery ticket stuffed plastic eggs, the Peep eating contest, the mammoth cinnamon rolls, the egg dying contest, the stuffed toy sperm prizes, yes, that's right, I said toy sperm, but I missed it.  I started feeling puny Easter evening, worse the next day, and by Wednesday the flu I thought I had had turned to pneumonia.  Bummer.  So, this is the condensed Easter post.  The precious Easter "basket" that my sweet husband made for me and then me, maybe two year old me, with the slightly scary Easter Bunny.

Let's just call this Happy Spring.  K?

Happy 19th Daisy Mae.

This month our sweet old girl turned 19. I've been pretty amazed, but maybe I shouldn't be. She is quite possible THE most sheltered kitty in the world. She's 100% indoors, she eats well, and is just never, ever exposed to any dangers...unless you consider the dogs, that she slaps around or head butts depending on her mood, a danger.

I love her. I adore her. But I've gotta be honest - she drives me a little nuts. We're good all day long but when night rolls around the battle of will begins. When I go to bed I take a glass of water with me, have to. The minute that glass hits the night stand Daisy is on it like white on rice. She sticks her paw in it. Evidence here. The same paw that earlier shoved kitty litter over her, um, eliminations. She has her own glass. Yes glass. Because she refuses to drink out of a bowl like a normal cat, if there is such a thing as a normal cat. Anyway, her glass is on the dresser, a whopping three feet away from the night stand. I've started having to use one of those insulated Starbucks cups with the lid and straw. Thing two: sleeping on my feet. I'm one of those people who has to kick my feet out from under the covers at night or I feel trapped. What is more confining than tucked bed covers? Answer: being pinned down by a cat! And so the battle begins. All night long. Picking her up, moving her over six inches, falling asleep, waking up , picking her up, moving her six inches, and so on. All. Night. Long.

But, I wouldn't trade her for anything. She is affectionate, funny, adorable, oddly agile for her age, and an extreme pest. She is needy and independent all at the same time. Maybe that's why she drives me bonkers - we are too much alike.

Happy Birthday crazy girl.

old school

I've been missing college. Specifically my metalsmithing classes. When I was at SWT getting my studio art degree, you had to take seven semesters of your chosen emphasis in addition to several other studio classes. Translation: I spent three and half years (well, if I'm being honest, I did four and a half) in the same room. It was Heaven. There were three of us that started and finished together and a few more that overlapped a few years. We really hunkered down and it became home. I spent more nights half asleep in that studio that I should ever admit to - late nights, no sleep, a torch in your hand or molten metal flying through an outdated centrifuge at 2am...well, let's just say that I had some unintentional hair trims on more than one occasion.

But back then we had projects. We were given topics or materials or something to launch us into a month long project. It is so different from how I work now that it seems crazy - I would actually work on one thing for four weeks!?!? But I did. And I have been longing for that again. Sketching, playing around with an idea, experimenting, taking on something that I know will be involved and probably, truthfully, not sell-able because I've invested a bazillion hours into it.

But here's the thing: I've decided I need those old school projects. They are good for me, keep my brain working and keep me in touch with those days where I couldn't afford to buy silver so I made everything in copper. So, this butterfly ring is my first trip down memory lane. It began with the cage, just wanting to cage something...I had to really rack my brain on building the cage, it took a few attempts. While it's not a month long project, it was time-pricey. And I love it. The band and setting are sterling silver, the butterfly is brass and sitting in green resin, and the cage is made of copper. It's kinda cool.
And all the while I am still working on what truly IS metalsgirl. And the really great thing is, it still inspires me. I still love making pretty much every piece. I would be nuts not to - I got an art degree that I actually use to make a living. How often does that happen? To say I am lucky is quite the understatement. So yeh, whether I am making a necklace I've made 20 times before or a ring that no one may ever wear, I'm loving my job!

freshen up

Tom and I often talk about things we want to "do" around the house. It always sounds really fun until about 20 minutes in when I want to take it all back. Hit the rewind button and decide it was just fine the way it was. This time it was the dining room. And the little lady in the photo above started the whole thing.
Our dining room was red. RED. Everything was red. The walls and ALL the woodwork. I loved it when we did it and honestly, I still liked it, but it needed a change. I swear it feels a third larger now.

Anyway, I bought the lamp of the girl in the yellow dress with her dog off of etsy a few months ago. I looooove her! But I could not figure out where she should live. Tom was the one that suggested the dining room and the inspired change. Oh, and the Ikea light fixture was a huge part of the decision t revamp. The chandelier or most-hideous-light-fixture-ever, as I like to call it, that was there before HAD to go. We've been wanting to change it since Jesus was a baby, but just had not found the right thing. Why we ever bought it in the fist place is a mystery to me...I should post a photo...anyway, all I can figure is that it was super cheap at the Pottery Barn outlet and you know how that is: when something was a bajillion dollars and now it's like, $15, it's all of the sudden cute. That must be what happened. It wasn't cute.
There was some switcharoo-ing going on - the kitchen and the dining room swapped hutches, the black dresser turned bar moved from my friend Haley's garage to our dining room, and Vivian, our mannequin, got a new to her (my grandmother's) vintage linen dress.

The built in book cases that my Dad made for me for my birthday a few years ago look soooooo much better in white. Not sure what made me paint them red in the fist place, but now they feel like the built-ins circa 1950's house that I was shooting for.


Now it's all said and done. Tom did the lion's share of the work. Poor thing might never recover from scraping those dreadful popcorn ceilings (who EVER thought those were a good idea?). It took twice as long as I said it would, but I love it. Nice to have a bright, cheerful change to issue in spring.

the pig and the bug

I couldn't help it. I mean seriously, how cute is he?!? Tom and I were just hangin' out at home last night (which is Heaven to me!). I was sitting on the couch, oblivious to the cuteness right next to me, reading my book club book (Blood, Butter, and Bones - anyone read it?) when Tom started grinning and tip toed off to get his camera. He snapped off several photos before Pasqual began to squint a little...
...then came the bug. It gingerly landed on the pig's nose. I swear he stared at it for a full minute before moving. Priceless!
Oh my goodness. Don't anybody tell me that Pit Bulls are not the cutest things ever. Seriously.

a MoMo and a Bernadette.

Meet MoMo. Well, his real name is Morris but for some reason I don't like that. So Tom has dubbed him MoMo. I am quite sure that you might be saying "Uh, Morris is way better than, um, MoMo." But I also want to name my kid (my imaginary kid) Turkish, so go figure.

Normally I enthusiastically introduce our new fosters right away. But MoMo came to us in a kinda round-about way and it's been a rocky road. This adorable boy had a wonderful home where he was adored. His person rescued him from the shelter, he went on trips with his person, slept in bed with his person...and then his person got sick. She lost her battle with cancer in the Fall of 2011. Sadly no family stepped forward to take him. So he found his way to Blue Dog.

But it has not been very smooth sailing. Poor boy has just been shut down. He started out in another foster home but was just not warming up. So we attempted a tried-and-true method of passing a dog around to show them that no matter where they go people are nice, they get to do fun stuff, get lots of treats - kind of an everyone-I-meet-is-fantastic approach. Last stop was Metalsgirl Headquarters aka our house. And he broke my heart. I just could not bring myself to pass him on. I made the unilateral decision that he needed stability. I don't know if that was right or wrong because not a lot has changed. He gives us moments of enthusiasm, but they are short lived. He doesn't want to snuggle even though he's got just about the most snuggable face you have ever seen in your entire life. So we continue to cruise along, looking for that needle in a haystack home that doesn't care if their dog wants to snuggle or not, be pet or not...
And then there's Bernadette. Quite possibly THE polar opposite of MoMo on the social scale, but equally cute. But, and this is a gigantic BUT, we just discovered that Bernadette has a genetic heart defect. I saw her X-ray yesterday and her poor little heart is, well, not little at all. It's huge. And apparently it's caused her gallbladder to swell too. Why all the gallbladder issues!?!? Anyway, she has just started lasix and seems to be responding well. But will someone want to adopt a dog who will need to be on meds the rest of her life? who might have a shorter life expectancy? who will likely have accidents due to the meds she has to take?
Or did Tom and I just unwittingly just "adopt" a MoMo and a Bernadette?

needing a pie intervention.

I've always loved to make pies. When I was a little girl my great grandmother always had a pie on the counter. I remember her cream pies the most, with meringue piled a mile high. I watched her throw everything together, never measuring a thing. I can still see her hands on the rolling pin. She had big hands, her knuckles seemed especially large, but they moved that wooden pin like it was made of air. She was anything but delicate about it and yet they always came out stunning. I feel connected to her when I am rolling out my own dough. I think with every pie I make I am trying to make her proud. In my head I'm saying "Look at this one Nana! How'd I do?"

I've been in charge of the Thanksgiving pies for years, but in the last year I've been slowly developing this dream. It's a total Don Quixote dream, but it's fun to think about. I want to open a pie shop in New York City. I think about what I would name it...something after my Nana... Tom and I talk about what my signature pies would be...I think this part of the dream is what has made me become a pie junkie over the last few weeks - developing my signature pies. And plus, I just like making pie.

My obsession with Pinterest has only added to my pie frenzy. Not so much for the recipe's, 'cause I like to make up my own, but for creative pie crusts! I saw one where the top crust was nothing but leaves. It was gorgeous! I was going to make that, but the pie was headed for a super bowl party so Tom suggested the stars. Once all of the stars were placed I gave it an egg wash and Tom helped me sprinkle chunky sugar over it to give it a sparkle.
It was a pretty standard apple pie. I wanted to test how well that top crust would hold up over a fruit pie. I think I may have used honey instead of sugar in this one. It was yum!
This crust was another Pinterest find. It took me a minute to get the braiding down but once I did it was easy peasy!

And man, it is an impressive looking crust if I do say so myself. I've made it twice in the last month. First on this...
...Cafe au Lait pie! The idea came to me one night when Tom and I were talking about the pie shop, discussing all different kinds of pie, and I realized I had never had any kind of coffee pie. And that seemed ridiculous, so I headed straight for the kitchen! It's a tweak on a vanilla cream pie, heavy on the cream (vs. milk) and espresso powder. It turned out so well that I made a second one for my mom's bridge club.
I used the braided crust on this one too. A Spicy Mexican Chocolate Almond pie for my parents on Valentine's Day.
Then there is the savory pie! Oh how I loooooove a chicken pot pie!!!! I like making the crust for this pie a lot more rustic. We were so busy eating this deep dish yumminess that I totally forgot to take a picture of it after it came out of the oven.
I made this pie this past weekend for my dad's birthday. Cherry pie is his favorite and I had been wanting to try to make this hole-punched crust for awhile, but imagined it with blueberries for some reason. Now that I've topped a cherry pie with this beauty I've bid a happy farewell to the old standard lattice crust.

Now if I could just figure out what to do with all those left over dots...

Hot out of the oven and bubbling over, this has to be one of the prettiest pies I have ever made. So, what's next? Maybe I need to watch The Waitress again to get some inspiration? or go listen to some Patty Griffin...

"It's not far
I can walk
Down the block
To TableTalk
Close my eyes
Make the pies all day"