I didn't spot Bull Shannon anywhere

I'm glad I've never had to go to court as a defendant or as a witness.

When I first arrived for Jury Duty, I was hoping that I would not be selected.

As the day wore on, however, I started to feel a swell of pride for my country and our judicial system, and the part that I, an average jane, get to play.

(I'm easily brainwashed. Someday I'll tell you about the time a giant salesman convinced me I needed to spend $5,000.00 on a water softener. It cures kidney stones! It solves acne problems! It makes your hair silky and smooth! With the money you save on soap, it practically pays for itself! Or I could tell you about the time a tiny salesman convinced me I needed a $1,000.00 knife set. They cut through steel! Then they slice paper thin discs of tomato! They never need sharpening! You can use the kitchen shears on anything from paper, to aluminum, to garden stems, to chicken bones! They are actually cheaper than a Henkels knife set! Have you got some swamp property in Florida you'd like to sell me? Show me where to sign.)

Let's just say I am intimately familiar with the three day grace period on all credit card purchases.

Where was I? Oh, yes, Jury Duty.

As I looked around at my fellow jurors, I realized that we were quite the cross section of the population of my county.

Retirees, young mothers, not-so-young mothers (ahem), students, young professionals, grandparents, laborers.

Want to know what middle America looks like? Walk into a courthouse and take a look at the juries that are sitting on cases.

That's us.

I can't talk about the case.

It's ongoing.

Don't even ask.

The verdict on the roasted pigs we served on our wedding day: GUILTY of being delicious

The verdict on dressing the pigs as a bride and groom: GUILTY of being totally awesome

The verdict on the lattice I chose to disguise our church gym as something else: NOT GUILTY of being even remotely tasteful

The verdict on the bride and groom themselves: GUILTY of being skinnier back then, and madly in love today

Now I have to go to bed. I have court in the morning.

And that's no bull.

How to Save Money and the Environment

a.k.a. An Alternate Workout

a.k.a. A Superfun Game for the Kids

Our bathtub faucet is broken. Not just a dripdripdrip kind of broken but a constant ttttrrriiiiccckkkklllleeee kind of broken. It's something to do with O-Rings and needing to replace the entire faucet, not just a matter of tightening a few bolts and moving on with our lives.

I found the faucet I want and it needs to be special ordered. boo. For now, the soundtrack of my days is tttttrrrrriiiiiccccckkkkkklllllleeeeee. It's very annoying. One day, Bob turned off the water leading to the bathroom and I spent my day in blessed silence as I consumed bon-bons and watched my stories.

I didn't get to take a shower that day.

I had a really sweaty disgusting workout that morning.

I woke up the next morning with three new pimples.

Today I went down and tried to turn off the water myself. It was confusing and tiresome and a failed attempt. I am beyond irritated. With every ttttrrriiiicccckkkkllllleeee that goes down the drain, I hear dollardollardollar going down the drain, along with my sanitysanitysanity.

As I gathered laundry from various people's bedrooms, a solution dawned on me.

Do you see where this is going?

Conserve water! I didn't drain the tub after I bathed George. I filled my giant stockpot with water from the tub and lugged it downstairs. When I opened the washer, I was greeted with the pleasant aroma of towels that had been sitting in the washing machine since, I think, Saturday.

Thank you, mysterious laundry fairy. Thank you.

I dumped the big pot of water into the washbasin (that's what I call it now, because I am a frontier woman. Fetching water.) I did this three times before I realized that the washbasin was not getting any fuller of water. More full? I don't know. It wasn't filling. Dangit. Giant pots of water are heavy. And awkward.

I'm a frontier woman, I don't know how to work these newfangled contraptions. I fiddled with the settings on the machine.

Several trips up and down the stairs later, the washing machine is running and the faucet is dripping into a still stoppered tub. I still have a lot of laundry to get through today.

When His Majesty returns to Our Castle, I will implore him to teach me about the mysteries of water valves and the shutting of them off.

What's not to like?

Following is the text of a conversation I had with my daughter after reading that a girl's self esteem mirrors her perception of her mother's self esteem, not what her mother actually thinks of her little girl, or herself for that matter.

Hey, Stella, do you think I like myself?

Stella: Yes. Why wouldn't you?

Me: I don't know. I'm asking you. What do you think I think about the way I look?

Stella: That you have a lot of zits (ouch, true, but . . . ouch).

Me: What about my body? What do you think I think about my body?

Stella: That it's strong!

Can I tell you how happy I am that she didn't refer to size or looks in any way? She's right, though. I can almost do a pull-up.

We need more . . .

. . . Backyard Karaoke!

As much as I love living in Iowa, there is one thing that is missing (besides you, of course!) I have yet to be invited to or even hear about any backyard karaoke parties. Yeah, yeah, we play plenty of SingStar and Rock Band, but there really is nothing like a good backyard Karaoke party to kick off the holiday season.

A backyard Karaoke party complete with cookies, hot chocolate, eclairs, cotton candy, costumes, and festive wooden cutouts.

What?

You think this party sounds like something out of my imagination? You think I am telling fairy tales and a party this spectacular is pure fantasy? Well, think again, my friends.

Check out my mom and my sister singing John Denver. And just in case you didn't notice, they are pretty much singing to me. Hard to tell we're related, eh?

(And somebody, for the love of Pete, host a backyard karaoke party around here.)

Recipe for a Rainy Day

It's raining.

Jack rode his bike to school anyway. The kid is unstoppable.

Grey skies and damp air always remind me of my mom. For some reason, I associate rainy days with the smell of good things on the stove. This morning I turned on my favorite playlist and decided it was a soup day.

I am in the midst of turning this:

Into this:

Glorious homemade chicken stock. It won't actually be ready to eat until tomorrow, but Creed will be happy, because the day I make stock, we have Chicken Pot Pie for supper. His favorite. It's nice because it's one of the few meals that I can take a whole day to make, and everyone loves it. I don't get any grumbling at the table. I use Alton Brown's method for the stock. Alton Brown is my go-to expert. He was America's Test Kitchen before I was aware there even was an America's Test Kitchen. I love knowing the science and the WHY? behind what I'm making.

Chicken Stock is easy to make. Basically, one tosses a few ingredients into a pot and simmers them over medium-low heat for a few hours. That's about it.

For those of you who would like more complete instructions, I'll save you the trouble of linking over to the swirling vortex that is the Food Network (tell me I'm not the only one who loves to read recipes), and post the recipe here, with a few notes of my own in one of my favorite colors.

Ingredients

• 4 pounds chicken carcasses, including necks and backs (I have used leftover carcasses from roasted chickens that I froze, and then defrosted when I was ready to make stock. Today, I am just using a whole chicken. Don't try using boneless, skinless breasts. They don't have any flavor to lend to the stock. Drumsticks, thighs, and wings work well.)
• 1 large onion, quartered
• 4 carrots, peeled and cut in 1/2
• 4 ribs celery, cut in 1/2
• 1 leek, white part only, cut in 1/2 lengthwise (I have omitted the leek before, and I regretted it. The leek adds an extra punch of flavor to the stock.)
• 10 sprigs fresh thyme
• 10 sprigs fresh parsley with stems
• 2 bay leaves
• 8 to 10 peppercorns
• 2 whole cloves garlic, peeled
• 2 gallons cold water

Directions

Place chicken, vegetables, and herbs and spices in 12-quart stockpot. Set opened steamer basket directly on ingredients in pot and pour over water. Cook on high heat until you begin to see bubbles break through the surface of the liquid. Turn heat down to medium low so that stock maintains low, gentle simmer. Skim the scum from the stock with a spoon or fine mesh strainer every 10 to 15 minutes for the first hour of cooking and twice each hour for the next 2 hours. (If you skip the skimming of the scum, you will not have glorious, clear-amber stock at the end. The scum is fat, so if you don't skim it off, you are going to eat it, and chicken fat? Yuck.) Add hot water as needed to keep bones and vegetables submerged. Simmer uncovered for 6 to 8 hours.

Strain stock through a fine mesh strainer into another large stockpot or heatproof container discarding the solids. Cool immediately in large cooler of ice or a sink full of ice water to below 40 degrees. (At this point, I put mine right into my storage jars leaving enough space at the top for expansion when it freezes, then skim the rest of the scum off the top the next day.) Place in refrigerator overnight.


Remove solidified fat from surface of liquid and store in container with lid in refrigerator for 2 to 3 days or in freezer for up to 3 months. Prior to use, bring to boil for 2 minutes. Use as a base for soups and sauces.

Are you going to make this? Have you made it before? Do you have any ways to tweak this recipe and make it more your own? What do you do with your stock once you've made it?

The Violent Femmes just started playing on my playlist. I'm off to dance with George. Have a wonderful day!