Cooking with the Pilot

Wandering into the kitchen one morning last weekend, my hockey-playing, pilot husband, who is an exterminator and has a degree in Biblical studies, was vigorously chopping some food source in a frying pan on the stove. I mention his hobbies, schooling and his occupations to point out that he has no formal, or informal for that matter, training in the culinary arts. NONE! He is widely renown for his burnt grilled cheese sandwiches. So his attempt at cooking amused me initially. As I began to ascertain the situation at hand, I became highly amused…. blog-worthy-amused!

On impulse at Costco, my sweet husband, the provider for our family, purchased a skid of hashbrowns. Just look at how crispy-fried those salty morsels appear! He was probably salivating in the super store. Gluten free and 100% REAL potatoes. How could he go wrong?

Kindly I explained that the objective of hashbrown cooking is to leave them alone so they can get brown and crunchy. Smashing them to smithereens won’t get the desired results. Previously I had cooked two boxes of said Costco bulk purchase, so I was quite well-informed on the procedure.

Peering into the pan, something didn’t seem right. The limp potato strips looked dry (and smashed.) Kindly I inquired, “Did you read the directions?” It was an honest question. As soon as my question was delivered, my 13-year-old daughter, who has been trained in our kitchen by my capable side, started laughing and pointed at her dad the I-told-you-so-finger-of-doom. Seems she already mentioned reading the directions to him. That’s my girl!

Rick, Mr. Master Chef, (term used very sarcastically) opened the little carton of goodness and dumped the freeze-dried potatoes in the hot frying pan. He realized something was off. His spidey senses alerted him to the need for butter. In went a dollop of creamy yellow goodness. Butter is the answer to SO MANY cooking situations.

THEN he proceeded to read the directions. And I’ll admit, the instructions for this delicacy are unusual. 1. Open carton and add hot water to the fill line. 2. Close carton and let stand for 12 minutes. Drain well.

Uh oh.

Things were off to a poor start. The pan he had chosen was obviously too small if water was to be added, so he switched to a larger pan. (The only reason I know this is because I discovered a small frying pan in the sink with the remains of burnt freeze-dried potatoes stuck to its non-nonstick bottom.) It was too late to add water to the carton full of spuds, so he added water to the frying pan full of crunchy strips and butter. It said HOT water, so the stove burner was turned to HIGH, obviously. Just like whipping up a grilled cheese sandwich to quality blackness.

Disclaimer: my daughter filled me in on this whole process after the fact so this is all hearsay.

Okay, thinking he was good, he went back to the directions. 3. Preheat a large, non-stick skillet and 2 TBSP. oil over medium-high heat. So, FAIL on the non-stick part. Next oil was poured over the soggy white, limp, smashed potato strips. Doesn’t this make you want to have some???

This is when I wandered in… to witness the mutilation of the oily, half-saturated delicacy. Kindly I probed to see what oil he used. There are four oils in my cupboard: coconut, olive, sesame and vegetable. He had a 75% chance of success. Again, my daughter who loves home-ec informed me in a Dad-is-so-busted tone, “He used butter from your bowl. The one you measured to make cookies.” Ooooh, there are several things that could make this mama go all kinds of crazy on you. Using my softened butter that is measured in a bowl for baking is one of them. And she knew he knew better! That’s my girl. Again the finger-of-doom was pointed at the perpetrator.

It’s doubtful if he ever did read 4. Fry on one side for 3-4 minutes, or until golden brown. Kindly I offered to show him how to divide the pan of scrumptiousness into thirds and flip them to golden brown perfection.

Surprisingly, they tasted okay.

The moral of the story is: When at first you don’t succeed, fry fry again.

Or: Touch mama’s measured butter and die a slow death of much pain. (Kindly I let him live.)

It Ain’t Over til It’s Over

And I have NO IDEA when that will be! Land sakes alive! Yes, Crosbys are still stuck in address change purgatory. Yes, it’s been going on for over eight blinkin’ months. This week’s participants who contacted us about our “move” to Oklahoma were Costco, Charles Schwab and Arizona Elections.

While picking up a few pictures that I had printed at Costco, the cashier instructed me to head on over to the membership counter to verify my address. I sighed and rolled my eyes and said, “Not again!” She reassured me that it was a common practice to occasionally verify addresses. I knew differently.

At the counter the lady scanned my membership card and then read my new address in Oklahoma out loud for me. “No, that is not my address. I have not moved in over ten years.” She asked if I have ever lived in Oklahoma. “No.” I mean, really, why explain the whole my-daughter-was-married-and-moved-to-Oklahoma-last-June-and-put-in-an-address-change-and-accidentally-checked-the-whole-family-box? Customer service reps don’t care. At all. I know from experience. She ended with “That’s weird!” I responded with “Yeah! Totally weird!”

Next, an email came that stated our account with Charles Schwab was frozen because mail had been returned. With my husband, Rick, out of town, I tried to take care of it without him having to spend time on this, but alas, my name is not on that account. Whew. I forwarded the 800 number to Rick. BAM! Outta my hands.

Yesterday, three orange “second notice” cards came from Arizona Elections informing Linda Ann, Rickey Allen and Austin Rick that we need to re-register to vote because of our address change. Thankfully that was just one phone call and it is fixed. I hope. I let the nice lady know that we received orange cards but we have lived and are still living in the same house that we have been voting from for ten years. She believed me and didn’t ask questions. Thank you, nice elections lady! I vote for her!

If I can give you any advice today, dear reader, it is BE VERY CAREFUL TO SELECT THE APPROPRIATE BOX ON THE ADDRESS CHANGE CARD AT THE POST OFFICE. Instruct your children about this. Write it on your gates and the doorposts of your house. Tell your neighbors. Include this information in your Christmas letter. Make bumper stickers. Get the word out. Seriously, it’s THAT important!

(On the flip side, if you are trying to think of a devious plot for your most evil enemy for April Fool’s Day…. submit an address change for them… and check the “whole family” box. Hopefully they write a blog and you can read about your sinister activity for months! heh heh heh)

Debit Card Conundrum, Part II

The day after I ordered my replacement debit card (see previous blog), my handsome husband, Rickey, informed me that his debit card was no longer working and that my card for our joint account wouldn’t be working either. This did not make me have visions of grandeur, as I only have two debit cards. After I relayed my tall tale of missing the security questions on the phone, Rick went straight into the bank, avoiding all that nonsense.

The next day, at Albertson’s I attempted to pay for my $70 of groceries with the card from our joint account. As suspected, it was denied. I had to use the emergency credit card. We do not use credit except for renting hotel rooms, or buying plane tickets….. groceries were a no no. But what was I to do?

Later that day our son Keeve had a state band competition on the far side of town more than an hour away. Rick was going to meet us part way and we would drive together. However, my van’s orange gas tank light was glaring brightly at me as I pulled out of the driveway. I decided to stop at Costco on the way to fill ‘er up. At Costco, I slid my credit card into the slot and the machine asked for my pin number. WHAT? I don’t have a pin number for my credit card! (My husband later informed me that Costco doesn’t take credit cards. How’s a girl to know?)

Getting back in the van, I clicked the little overhead button that tells exactly how many miles until we are out of gas…. 15. Good. After a brief calculation, I assumed our rendezvous was planned less than 15 miles away.

Poor 12-year-old Nora in the back seat was on the verge of a nervous breakdown watching the miles count down. She was imagining us living under an overpass in cardboard boxes, I’m sure. Every time it changed, she would read it aloud, but only in a whisper… ten…. eight…. six… two. And then she read no more after zero showed up and stayed. Holy mother of sweet baby Jesus, homelessness was immanent!

The next exit was only one shy of our meeting place, AND promised a gas station… luring me in like a fly to fly paper. After dialing Rick’s cell number, I explained that we were out of gas and he would need to ride one mile north on his white steed and save the fair maiden and the Colombian princess.

Unfortunately, he lamented that he was delayed and was more than 45 minutes away on the far side of town. Not quite crying, I whimpered about both debit cards not working and I didn’t know my pin number to my credit card. “Go inside the gas station and pay with your credit card!” he spat out. Never in my life have I gone inside a gas station to pay for gas. But now I have and we were happily on our much relieved way. Nora was breathing again and elated that we could drive for 356 miles before heart palpitations returned. She did ask how many miles away the band competition was!

I dialed up the bank again, thinking that I could now answer the stupid security questions, and get my new card ordered for the joint account. The kind lady informed me that my card was indeed open. I clarified through gritted teeth that I was forced to put $70 worth of groceries on a credit card because my debit card was indeed declined. Her response was to blame Albertson’s. I laughed in her ear, hung up and assumed I needed to go into the bank once more. Am I in debit card purgatory????

Please stay tuned for the Debit Card Conundrum, Part III.

ICE ICE Baby

Yet another trip into Walmart to complete my day.  I swear we should have bought stock in that store when it opened!  It doesn’t matter if I have a list…. and I remembered to bring my list…. and I buy EVERYTHING on my list…. I still need to go back to Walmart later that same day for SOMETHING still in the dang store.  It’s true.  The store sucks me in.  Every time.  Like a fly to flypaper.  Why do they have so many stinkin things that I think I need?  Or the kids need?  Or my husband needs?  Or the dogs need?  Good gravy.

It was a non-list-quick-trip that hardly called for a cart.  But then, it was 12:30 p.m., and we all know what that means.  The rotisserie lemon-pepper chickens that came out of the slow cooker at 8:45 a.m. are now HALF PRICE!  “Go get us a cart, son.”  Glory be.  There were five plump birds with my name all over them.  I always hate it when someone comes and stands in line behind me when I’m filling up the entire bottom of the cart with scrumptiously delicious smelling game hens with $2.98 stickers on them.  No, I won’t share.  I have four children, a husband and two dogs, for Pete’s sake.  And I don’t have to cook the birds.  Hello!  We live in Phoenix.  Not turning on the oven is a prime idea for eight months of the year.  I never make eye contact with other shoppers when I’ve hit the poultry prize.

With the cart full of discounted dinner, we grabbed the few other things that I really came in Walmart for…. fish for fish tacos, avocados for fish tacos, cabbage for fish tacos and cilantro for fish tacos.  I was drooling simply thinking about lunch!  Then, lo and behold, the ICE drinks were in a HUGE display right at the front of the store… sucking me in again.  Pink grapefruit ICE drink will be served in heaven, people.  I prefer to purchase this pop at Costco in a case, but we weren’t in Costco with the cases.  We grabbed 12 of the skinny bottles (that are ridiculously easy to knock over) and headed for the cashier.

The clouds parted, the skies opened, and we had less than 20 items for the express lane!  (Because 12 ICE drinks are ONE item….. ICE drinks. Thankyouverymuch!)  While we patiently waited for the kind elderly lady to scan our groceries, my extremely helpful son was unloading the cart onto the non-conveyor belt counter….. the cart of skinny, easy to knock over bottles of ICE.  Yes, you guessed it, one went down.  And it didn’t go down pretty.  It went down with a BOOM and a pressurized fountain and a shriek or two and then a shower for my three family members and an elderly cashier.  The front of my dress was soaked …. soaked through to my bra.  ICE ran down my arms and legs.  It was splashed on my head and face.  My purse was dripping, as well as my daughter, son and the not-so-kind-anymore cashier.  The walls of the lane on both sides were drenched.  The floor was a lake of grapefruit.  All the groceries on the non-conveyor belt were wet.  I still can’t believe how one little bottle of juice did that much damage.

The poor cashier did not see the humor in the situation as I have learned to see over the years of having four children and ridiculously embarrassing messes happen in my presence because of my four children.  We mopped up as much as we could, but our lane was shut down, blocked off with a cart and paper towel was spread far and wide.  When we were finally done paying and dripping, I remarked to the little old lady, “Well, I hope your day goes better from here on out!”  Haha….  Not so.  She snapped back, “It BETTER!”  Made me chuckle.  Maybe she had a big date after her shift????

Kings Canyon Camping Episode 3: GENERAL GRANT HIKE

GENERAL GRANT HIKE.   Day #3 brought sunny skies and temperatures in the 40s!  Whooo HOoooooOOOOooo!

During our stay at Kings Canyon there was a prescribed burn going on so the mornings and evenings were quite smokey…. which made for great sun ray pictures!

We took advantage of the clear weather and did the hike to the General Grant Tree which was a 1/2 mile from our campground.  This was our first glimpse of one of the BIG trees.  General Grant is the third largest tree in the world.  It started growing before the Egyptians built the pyramids.  Yes, it’s true.  Along the trail there were several fallen trees expanding our minds as to the enormity of these specimens.  In the middle of the trail the 7-year-old girl that was with us randomly announces to no one in particular, “This is a great place to shuffle” and proceeds to do the shuffle right there on the pine straw.  Priceless.

No, there will be no photo essay of General Grant…. my camera batteries died on this hike.  Bummer, dude.  But we did sit on the hill above Gen. Grant and broke out our nature journals and drew the immense fire scar on the tree’s back side.  While we sat there drawing, coloring and munching on beef jerky, groups of tourists came by from France.  We spoke with a few of them, but their English was about as good as our French.  About 90% of the people we met during our week stay were from France.  We still don’t know why….

Deer were plentiful in our campground and all around the parks.  These timid animals were not afraid of people or cars.  Sad.  Our girls were playing on the jumbo fallen log in the meadow behind our camp when a group of four deer came near.  The girls froze and whispered to each other as they watched the gentle animals graze.  Eventually one of the teenage boys yelled and the deer took off.  Nora had never seen deer run before.  She came scooting over to the camp and proclaimed, “Mom, they don’t run. They bounce!”  So cute!

Please stay tuned for the upcoming episodes of Kings Canyon Camping.

Kings Canyon Camping Episode 2: The BLUSTERY DAY & STUMP MEADOW

THE BLUSTERY DAY.  As the snow continued to fall, we realized our plans for the day had slowly drifted away, much like the snowflakes we were witnessing making their listless trek to the white ground below.  National Park solution #1: Visitor Center!  Yeehaw!  A roof, heated rooms, a movie, warm bathrooms with hot running water, etc. etc.  Off we went.  We took in a 20 minute movie about Kings Canyon with the three teenage boys reading the last word of every subtitle.  Did my homeschooling-mama-heart good. I taught those youngsters to read when they were wild, little, dirty whippersnappers.

The ten of us wandered the displays, felt the sharp blades of the 20 foot saw that was once used on the mammoth Sequoia trees, looked into bird nests, examined various sized pine cones and felt the bark of the enormous trees.  Much to our surprise, there was a beautiful educational room at the back of the center that we inhabited for several hours.  Our art boxes were brought in from the cars and we homeschooled in our socks in the shadows of three enormous paintings of the life zones we had studied.  Perfect!

Each of the wall murals was abounding in animals and plants of each zone.  The kids had made diorama boxes of these exact scenarios and they recollected many of the flora and fauna.

Postcards were purchased, written, stamped and sent home to various recipients whose addresses we knew by memory. We ate granola bars and cheese sticks.  Of course, we also did the booklets for the Jr. Ranger Program!  What would a trip to a national park be without doing a word find puzzle???  We learned about backpacking canisters for bear-safe food storage… see the black can?

As the natives got restless, we had wheelbarrow races and then we played charades in teams with National Park dice.  No one will ever forget Austin’s portrayal of a space ship complete with noises… because we are all familiar with the sounds made by alien flying saucers.

STUMP MEADOW.  After lunch, the snow had turned to rain and then to mist, allowing us to venture out and see a bit of the park.  Our first stop was Stump Meadow where hundreds of the BIG trees were harvested in the 1850s.  You can’t quite grasp the vastness of this area from a picture, but I offer my feeble attempt.

All eight of our children fit into the fire scar of this big stump with room to spare.  We have been reading My Side of the Mountain and the sequel The Far Side of the Mountain about Sam Gribley who, at 15,  moved from NYC to the hills and made a giant Hemlock his home.  Every time we saw a new BIGGER stump or hollowed-out tree the kids would claim, “This one will be my home!”

One last photo for you which I titled “The Little Colombian and the Giant Tree.”  Yes, Nora is standing there at the bottom, but I couldn’t back up far enough to get the top of the tree in the picture.  They are BIG.

Please stay tuned for the upcoming episodes of Kings Canyon Camping.

Kings Canyon Camping Episode 1: The ARRIVAL & FIRST MORNING

THE ARRIVAL.  Driving the supposed 10 hours and 21 minutes from Phoenix, AZ to Kings Canyon National Park, CA was almost uneventful with the exception of the swaying tent trailer that required only 60 MPH, the unfindable Visalia Costco that was a Walmart (seems that Costco moved to a new building and didn’t tell Mapquest), and the Park Ranger who said the showers were closed for winter. He was mistaken much to my relief after the 13 hour trip with two crazy moms and eight kids.

We arrived at Azalea Campground with about 90 minutes of sunlight to spare.  Every camper was in motion getting tents set up, wood hauled, food in bear boxes, fire built, trailer leveled, etc.  THEN, being a mom, I went to the closest bathroom building that was just a hop, skip and jump from our campsite, only to find out that it was also closed for winter.  GAH!  Next time we will check bathrooms BEFORE we unpack and set up camp.  So, much exercise was had ALL week hiking the hill to the open bathroom facility.

We tucked ourselves into chilly sleeping bags and beds, turned the propane heater to low in the trailer and snuggled in for a cozy night.  My night time camping routine might seem needlessly silly to some, but it works for me.  Wool socks with sweat pants tucked into them. Long sleeve t-shirt tucked into the sweat pants to halt drafty freezing breezes.  Long sleeve flannel jammie shirt.  Long sleeve red Mickey Mouse hooded sweatshirt with drawstring hood that is tied down to a small circle that only reveals my nose and mouth.  And earplugs.  And hand warmers…. I hold them in my hands until they are toasty, then I put the little bags of comfy warmth into my socks for the night.  BAM!  Arizona woman sleeps in a thin tent trailer at 6,500 feet in October in comfort.

THE FIRST MORNING.  My initial recollection was that there was daylight instead of darkness unlike the other 42 times I awoke during the night. My nose told me that it was chilly out….. really chilly.  Next, an early riser who had already departed from the tent trailer cheerily yelled, “It’s snowing!”  Turning over and snuggling down deeper into my warm nest, I closed my eyes and groaned, “Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!”  But it was true.  Weather.com had predicted only a 40% chance of rain or light snow.  They were 60% wrong.

One of the books that I read to my children in preparation for this trip was about Johnny and Teddy (John Muir and Theodore Roosevelt) titled The Camping Trip that Changed America.  Mr. Muir took the President camping in Yosemite to raise his awareness of the vast and enormously beautiful landscape that needed protection and the National Parks were born.  The two men awoke to a snow covered valley below them and Teddy Roosevelt proclaimed it the “best day of my life!”  The President’s joy was his alone as I did not share his feelings upon seeing snow while camping in the Sierra Nevadas, but I was glad for the experience for my city-slicker kids.  Every kid should camp in the snow ONCE! Simply to say they did…. and lived to tell the story.

Banana pancakes have never tasted quite as delectable as they did that cold cold inaugural morning of our week’s stay at Kings Canyon.

Please stay tuned for the upcoming episodes of Kings Canyon Camping.