It’s a glorious sunny day outside and literally, freezing cold. The puddle on the patio is icy. This is the part of winter where you get a little nutty here, in a different way than the days of endless rain. Last week we had a taste of spring, including flowers, and now it’s supposed to snow tomorrow. I am eating bloody toast because the air’s so dry my lip keeps splitting.
Our trip to Portland this weekend was fantastic. We stayed with my companion’s father, who lives in a beautiful old house that has separate areas that used to be the servants’ domains. I like old houses like this, with the old, extravagant use of wood and gorgeous light fixtures, but I’m not crazy about the lack of integration between the domestic and leisure areas. I prefer an open, beautiful kitchen to a closed-off one with a makeover that was obviously meant to be shut off from the dining room. Because of the location of the butler’s pantry and all the doors, you can tell that food was just supposed to magically appear.
We had a small dinner party there on Saturday night, with my companion’s brother and his wife, and some old friends. The house’s design had an interesting effect on the flow of our small party. During parties at modern houses, people usually get stacked up in the kitchen. I decided to put cheese and olives out on the sideboard in the dining room, which mostly kept people in one place and not underfoot.
My job was pretty simple; all I had to do was make a lamb roast, which, once you put it in the oven, pretty much makes itself. I had cut slits all over the raw meat and inserted little bits of garlic as the only seasoning. We brought the leftovers home, and now have a giant bone in the freezer, suitable for rendering a cavewoman unconscious or for making stock.
It was funny to get the leftover lamb from my companion’s dad. He chucked it into a plastic grocery sack and tied a knot on the top, which made me realize the apple doesn’t fall too far, at least in terms of man-Tupperware. I was raised to hermetically seal all leftovers, but you know what? That lamb was fine.
I also discovered something odd in the neighborhood we stayed in. We walked past an adorable house and I asked if it was a bed-and-breakfast. I was told no, it is a special house, though. Apparently the woman who owns it had a ceremony and married it. It’s called the Ladd-Reingold house, and she runs a hat museum out of it. I wish I would have known about the museum when we were there.
Also, we bought a stupid amount of books at Powell’s. Stupid because we are running out of shelf space, and because we spent a lot of money (for us, the thrifty bitches). It’s good, though. I want to put them all on the bed and roll around in them, really. And the portable crib worked! She slept in it both nights. We should get some use out of it this summer and when we go on our honeymoon in the fall.
In Other News
Strudel is turning this house into a squalordome. She has hit that drawer-emptying stage, to the point where I am on a countdown to her bedtime just so I can walk without slipping or stepping on something painful. I know she needs to do this, and if I stop her then she’ll be frustrated and I might as well raise her in a Skinner box. I have to confess that this level of disorder makes me feel claustrophobic sometimes.
She’s almost walking. Soon, soon, soon I’ll be able to turn her loose at the park.
That lamb looks incredibly delicious. I have meat envy. ME.
I have a theory that a gene on the Y chromosome prevents proper Tupperware usage. I’ve never known a woman to leave open cans of soup in the refrigerator.
That’s an amazing story about that house. I think the drawer emptying stage is pretty short if you take them to the park regularly. I like the blame the squalor on mine but it takes a rather complex theory to explain how she makes the desks messy and leaves the coffee cups next to the couch for three days. I have one though!
Honeymoon? Congratulations are in order?
I had no idea lamb porn was obligatory. I’m going to have to go and change my post from yesterday.
Married her house? That’s a great idea. A hat museum? A parrot and cat collection can’t be far behind. I’d marry my house, but she’s a girl (and I’m already married). So y’know, instead I just sleep with her on the side.
Lizz: we are getting married in October. I will keep everyone updated, don’t worry.
Grr…my mother insists on wrapping leftovers in knotted plastic grocery store bags. This grosses me out no end, and resulted in ruined Thanksgiving leftovers one year when I opened the bag and found a band-aid wrapper stuck to a beautiful hunk of turkey breast. I’m all for New England frugality, but c’mon, Mom.
In other news, congrats on the impending nuptuals! My advice: you can’t have too much cheese or bubbly. My fave wedding memory was spending the morning after drinking leftover bubbly and eating leftover cheese while opening our wedding gifts in our jammies. Heaven.
I leave open cans in the fridge… including soup. I mean, I’m probably just going to eat it tomorrow anyway and if it gets a litttle crusty it adds texture. it’s not like flies are going to get on it – it’s in the fridge!
Just stumbled into your site–wish you could have stopped by. PLAN ON IT, next time you’re in Portland. Besides the 600 hats, we have John Steinbeck’s door stop, a British phone booth and a couch made out of a 1966 Cadillac. A tour of America’s only Hat Museum is part display and part performance. 503-232-0433. The tiny purple roadster that went coast to coast to coast is also featured at the Ladd-Reingold House (official Nat’l Historic Registry name for The Hat Museum.) And yes, we celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary March 2006.
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