Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Making Chicken Potstickers Today
G loves them. And I can make quite a few at once. Freeze whatever he doesn't eat in that first "yippee, she made potstickers" meal. Usually two bags. Two future meals.
When our son visited, in 2014, we worked together to make them. That was lovely. He is a careful and precise cook, often chiding his mother for her messy ways. We also baked a cherry pie.
Today, after an evening of rain (damp humid morning), of a dog passing gas all night under our bed, and eventually a panicked bark to signal needing to go out--fast-- (what did he eat?)-- I didn't get much sleep-- I have garden produce picking, the watering job in Town and then I will settle into a gentle rhythm of making the dough and filling and pleat my way into dumplings.
Riley is still not 100%. He threw up on this morning's walk. So, he will appreciate a day of monitoring my whereabouts from the kitchen dog bed. G is off to work, weeding someone else's garden beds.
Later today, after G returns from work, I intend to have ice cream. It has no relevance to my diet. Which is odd. Cheese? Problems at times. Yogurt? Not always a good idea. Ice Cream. Great.
Perhaps it's the souring or processing of the milk into cheese and yogurt? Fresh mozzarella is no problem. I am trying a vanilla yogurt (only 4 ounces) which is NOT Greek. I have read that the Greek process can cause problems in digestion and also the Greek style has a greater percentage of sugar. I don't care for soupy, runny yogurt.
The sun is shining. It's humid. It's hot. It's August. Years ago, I had a day old baby girl to care for on August 17. In Georgia. All alone. (G worked long hours). Just me and a very small baby and a paperback copy of Dr Spock. The book stated that the baby was to be bathed each morning at 10 am.
And so it was. I bathed that baby each and every morning, at 10 am. Followed by clean clothes, a bottle and a nap. She was a delightful baby. Quiet. Happy. Easily entertained by the mobile over the crib. I tied a soft piece of yarn to her wrist and she tugged and held still, in order to move her favorite animal--the red elephant-- directly overhead. G and I would watch her movements (she wasn't even a month old) as she repeatedly moved the elephant to the desired position. I can safely say that she is still determined to have things her own way.