tollipop

nie nie benefit sale on etsy: last day!

Just wanted to let you know: for the past few days the lovely Morgan Moore has been hosting an amazing benefit sale on behalf of Stephanie and Christian Nielson, a young couple who were badly injured in a plane crash last month.  I do believe this evening (at 7 p.m. PST) is the last installment of the sale.  A few of my prints will be offered.  If you've been hankering for some melancholy girls to gaze at you from your wall, there's no time like the present to get one!  All proceeds will be donated to the Nielson's recovery fund.     

lunch with caroline

Quite possibly the most delightful moment of my day.

 

Number of times she plays with her food:  directly proportionate to the number of items on her plate.

 

Number of times she asks me to wiggle her tooth:  twice, because after that I tell her not to ask me anymore.  (Why did I tell her she had a loose tooth?  It was in a moment of weakness.)

 

Number of times she stops eating to have a good laugh:  plenty.  It's easy to make her laugh.

 

Number of Carolines in this world: just one.  And I can't tell you how much I enjoy every moment I get to spend with her.

reverse psychology: the pumpkin chocolate chip cookie recipe

 

In the past few days I've received several requests to share my pumpkin chocolate chip cookie recipe, requests which I've been mulling around in my head ever since.  Should I?  Shouldn't I?  Would there be ramifications?  Long term ramifications?  It went on like this for awhile--me sitting on the fence parsing the living daylights out of the situation, until I received an email from a girl named Kelly begging me at all costs to take the offending recipe to the grave.  That's right.  She didn't want me to share it.   In the worst way. 

After that, I breathed a sigh of relief.  It was as if someone had lifted a huge weight off my shoulders.   Why didn't I see it before?  Of course I would share the recipe!  It's clearly what I meant to do all along!  

But first a caveat:  you haven't baked with me before, have you?  Because the following information may not be appropriate for people who are in cahoots with measuring cups or concepts like precision or possibly even success in the kitchen. 

Here's how you break it down:

Mix together a cup of butter, a cup of white sugar, a cup of brown sugar, and a pinch of salt.

Slosh in a goodly amount of vanilla (if you're using the real stuff, perhaps keep it to a responsible limit). 

Add two eggs.  Mix!

Open a can of pumpkin (unless you love your kids enough to purée an actual gourd) and dump in about half (save the other half for the batch you will bake tomorrow after you accidentally inhale the results of today's efforts).

Now here's where it gets iffy.  I add in all those good allspice smelling spices.  You can't go wrong with cinnamon--two tablespoons at least!  Nutmeg you want to treat with a little more respect.  Add a stingy teaspoon, then set the bottle down.  You have to know your limits!  And whatever you do--don't mess with the cloves.  I mean, use them by all means, just don't mess with them.  Pinch them like snuff and sprinkle it over your brew, then get the heck out of Dodge. 

Mix away.

Don't forget the two teaspoons of baking powder!  Also a teaspoon of baking soda for good measure, since I can't remember which one you actually need.  Mix again.

Another iffy part...one that is kind of crucial.  How much flour to add?  It has to be two cups at least!  Here's the thing--add the two cups, mix, and see what you've got.  Does your cookie dough look like ogre slop?  It shouldn't be ghastly drippy...it should only be troublingly oozy.  If it looks like soup, you've got problems.  Add another 1/2 cup or so of flour.  If it looks like super thick stew, you're in the right neighborhood. 

I frankly think you should just add the 2 1/2 cups of flour in the first place and avoid putting yourself through the agony of indecision over that last 1/2 cup.  Unless you're like me and live for agony.

If you're a person who likes a fat little dumpling of a cookie, you may even want to add an extra 1/2 cup of flour on top of the initial deposit, bringing the total flour content of your cookie dough to a whopping three cups!

At this point I would sample the dough and determine whether it tastes spicy enough for you.  If not, another shot of cinnamon and nutmeg should do the trick.  You pick the amount.  Don't mess with the cloves, though--you're lucky if you escaped the first time without some shady clove punching you in the stomach.

Now you're ready for the chocolate chips.  I use the semi-sweet kind and about 2/3 of a bag goes into one batch.  I personally like to add raisins, but then my girls act like those raisins have ruined their chances of getting asked to the prom.  I also think some sort of nut would be tasty...say pecans?  Or walnuts?   But I really couldn't take the triple face crumple that would result from such a stunt. 

By the way, I hope you preheated your oven to 350 degrees.  That's practically de rigeur, you know.

Using two teaspoons, slop little balls of dough onto an ungreased baking sheet...the main thing is to keep the size of the dough deposits pretty uniform and at equal distances apart (unless you can't work with those kind of rules--then just do whatever makes you happy).

Bake 15-16 minutes or so.  You should already have good music playing, because your house is about to smell like everything is right with the world.  And when the cookies are ready?   Oh, happy day!

Wishing you the loveliest start to your week (and that we're still friends after this troubling tour through my mental kitchen)!

p.s.  if anyone is so bold as to attempt this recipe, I think we would all like to know how much flour you're actually supposed to use. 

cookie of the month: pumpkin chocolate chip

 

Oh, it's that time of year again!  Time for the kitchen to smell like warm nutmeg and the air outside to be crisp and delicious. 

All I can say is--our kitchen is holding up its end of the bargain. 

And now for an overly posed photo that still makes me happy:

 

Doesn't it look as if someone is about to sit down to a leisurely afternoon of sipping tea and nibbling cookies?  With nothing more to accomplish than getting lost in a good book?  What an enchanting notion! 

By the way, if you're in the mood for pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, here is the tea to go with it.   

   

And now, to wander completely off topic...it has come to my attention that posting on this blog as often as I typically do may not be harmonious with my desire to survive the school year.  Like most moms, I answer the question "How do you find time for these little creative endeavors?" with the standard response: "At night when the kids are sleeping." 

Well, I recently realized something else I should be doing at night when the kids are sleeping.  Sleeping. 

The school schedule has been such an adjustment this year.  With the girls in two different schools plus kindergarten in the mix as well as music lessons and swim team, I feel as if I'm constantly charging around.  Half my day seems spent in the car--not a great place to be when one is tired.  I don't know...this conversation could rapidly devolve into a galaxy of doubt over the load of activities we are trying to accomplish.  But then I'll really wish I could get my mom on the phone! 

All I know is today it occurred to me that perhaps my little creative outlet needs to be just a wee bit littler.  Also, a few hired hands to whip up grub and lasso the children would be just lovely!  Where are all those nannies I keep writing about? 

It's not that I mean to complain.  Life is beautiful.  I love being part of this family and spending my time with them.  For me, this is as good as it gets.  In addition, however, I love sifting through words and holding them up to the sun to watch them sparkle.  And I love finding the right colors for my little drawings. 

I'm just trying to strike the balance like everyone else. 

the cardigan girls

It was only the second gathering of the Cardigan Girls Club and already tempers were beginning to fray.  Beatrice, who was in charge, called the meeting to order.  Spence and Kitty, the twins from across the lane, flopped down upon the cushions but craned their necks this way and that, looking for signs of refreshment. 

With pleasure, Beatrice followed her agenda:  the taking of attendance, the recitation of the pledge. 

Prim and proper, buttoned up/Prudent e'er are we/No shirt untucked, no button loose/In our society!

Beatrice frowned over her ledger.  Did she hear snickering?  Better off to ignore it--the twins thrived on attention.  They were simply mad for it!

"And now for the minutes," Beatrice announced.

Kitty raised her hand.  "I move to propose a new pledge," she said.

"Oh, bother, Kitty.  We've been through this before!" began Beatrice, but Spence quickly added: "I second the motion!"

Beatrice gasped.  Where had they learned that little trick?!

Kitty rummaged through her apron pocket and dug out a scrap of paper.  Clearing her throat, she read the following as Spence drummed a rhythm on the floor: "The cardigan is a metaphor for all the hopes and dreams you keep hidden beneath the surface.  Beneath layers of lies.  Cardigan girl--can you hear me?  Do you know who you are?  Breathe, cardigan girl, breathe!  Take in huge, gulping draughts of fresh air, dance through the fields, braid flowers in your hair, sing to the moon, and let those buttons of oppression pop off you, one...by...one."  Kitty was flushed and breathing heavily.  Spence finished with a final, wild drum roll.

It was silent.  Beatrice gripped the ledger for dear life.  To see the beginnings of unrest so early in her tenure as president!  There was nothing to be done for it but to heap more authority upon herself!

"I would hardly call that a pledge, Kitty darling--more likely a manifesto, perhaps.  Dear me!  As if the world wasn't political enough already!  Now then..."

But it was no use.  The twins had wandered off and discovered the pretty pink cakes waiting on scalloped dishes, the kettle of milk tea, strawberry compote, and a tiny pitcher of clotted cream!   They clustered about the nursery table, exclaiming with delight.  Beatrice's shoulders slumped.  There would be no vying for attention against one of Nanny Frith's superior teas!  No, indeed!  All autocrats, even those who wear cardigans, must choose their battles wisely and it was to Beatrice's credit that she set the ledger down and joined her friends for a little refreshment. 

one fine day

Yesterday Roger and I did something so insanely spontaneous I'm surprised it wasn't covered by the 6:00 news.  Living in Las Vegas as we do, your mind is no doubt racing with the possibilities of what that might be.  Well hold onto your seat, dear reader, because this is sure not to disappoint!  We took a road trip.  A road trip!  To a place where you don't have to dust for fingerprints to see if autumn has been sneaking around, a place where the beauty of the season fairly revels in its glory.  See??  Crazy hijinks, like I said!  In my book this is the equivalent of swinging from chandeliers. 

At any rate, I cannot tell you how happy I felt to be in these mountains, to breathe this air, to see these colors, to feel the slanting light, to experience a moment of stillness.  It reminded me of a poem I read in a college lit class (probably freshman) and adore to this day.  It's by this guy, Gerard Manley Hopkins, and although woefully lacking in highwaymen who wear bunches of lace at their throats, you can't deny it's otherwise a pretty decent jingle. 

  Pied Beauty

    Glory be to God for dappled things—
        For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
            For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
    Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
        Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
            And áll trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

    All things counter, original, spáre, strange;
        Whatever is fickle, frecklèd (who knows how?)
            With swíft, slów; sweet, sóur; adázzle, dím;
    He fathers-forth whose beauty is pást change:

                                                Práise hím.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What a lovely thought, pied beauty.

 

ye olde smoothie shoppe

Sophie invented this game a few days ago and it's been delighting Caroline ever since. 

 

Would you care to wet your whistle?  One moment, please, as the smoothie doyenne consults her recipes.  The Pansy Sorbet is all the rage these days, second only to De La Paris.  Or how about the Watermelon Spree?  Insanely refreshing!

 

Stand back and watch the fireworks.  Not everyone can make exact science look this effortless!

 

Here comes the elbow grease!

 

Okay.  It's ready, but first the doyenne insists upon a small sample.  Hopefully this doesn't revolt the living daylights out of you.  (note: beads are too large for straw) 

Ah yes, the faint yet unmistakeable bouquet of bubblegum, followed by notes of cranberry.  Utopia!  Dear me, but it would appear the smoothie doyenne cannot resist her own creation!

 

As luck would have it, the doyenne has agreed to part with her dregs for the paltry sum of one penny.  Don't be a fool, man!  This is no time to stand on principle!  Pay the cent and abscond with the leftovers--some people swear it's the fountain of youth!

 

How serious was your weekend?

oh, martha, martha, martha...(an ode to joy and despair)

 

Last night I stole thirty minutes to dash over to Lowe's ostensibly to peruse ceiling fans. Instead, I was stopped short in my tracks by this delirious discovery:  Martha Stewart's paint shop!  On location.  And I mean, you can call it a paint shop all you want, but why don't we just scratch through the pleasantries and do the dirty work of tough love?  Admit it, Martha:  it's a color addict's romping ground. 

And something about it seemed almost sinister, the way tobacco giants print pictures of cartoon camels on their cigarettes and then pretend it doesn't bamboozle little kids.  Because I traipsed off on what I understood to be a mundane errand, entering a store I considered to be neutral territory.  So all my defenses were down when Martha's celestial array popped out of nowhere and set my pulse racing.

And you know what?  It's not even just about the color.  Because Lowe's carries other lines of paint and I've learned to skip through their rainbow to get to wherever it is I'm going.  You just close your eyes and run.  But Martha has to go ahead and name her colors the most tantalizing names under the sun.  Names like vintage rickrack and blue strawberry pot and no. 2 pencil.  No. 2 pencil!!  For crying out loud, Martha!  Did no one invent poetry until this very moment??

I stood there, trembling, holding the swatch for no.2 pencil in my hands, and that's when all my twelve step programs, my mantras, my pathetic resolve was crushed beneath her hypnotizing array of blues and greens and I literally forgot what I came to that store to accomplish.  

From now on I will never be able to paint a wall white.  It will have to be piano key.  And what mutton chop would say pink when we can pinpoint the exact shade of gerbera daisy?    

How does it all work, Martha?  How does this illuminating naming ceremony take place?  I can just see your assistant present you with a new color swatch.  You take it, close your eyes, and press it against your forehead.  The room is silent.  One minute.  Two.  Suddenly your eyes open and a beatific smile crosses your lips.  "Garden clog green!," you announce.  The room breaks into applause.  It's thunderous.  People are weeping.  Hugging one another.  No one will ever be the same.  No one will ever say plain green again. 

But why, you may ask, am I gushing my head off about Martha Stewart?  Well, for one, I am still not over the experience.  It takes me awhile to come down from a color high and every time I say the words "no. 2 pencil" my recovery is delayed by another ten minutes.   And two, Martha announced a little contest over on her blog and I thought perhaps you'd be interested in knowing about it. 

Perhaps you are also interested in knowing who won yesterday's Tollipop giveaway.  Because I just hired a bunch of bagpipers and held the drawing ceremony...and the winner is you, Sinhi darling!  Comment #2, which you thought would be so unlucky!  Isn't that delightful?  Isn't that the funniest thing?!  Congratulations and let's get in touch to chat about your favorite print.

To everyone else--(I dread this part)--thank you so much for playing along!  It was lovely to have you visit and I appreciate so much your kind comments.  It suddenly occurred to me what an ego trip these little giveaways can be.  You seriously said the nicest things.  I hope something delightful happens to you today!

And finally, I just added the promised candy-flavored prints to my Etsy shop.  Please check them out for yourself to see just how much I adore the color combination Caroline is holding in her hands!

pumpkin is the new black...plus another tollipop giveaway!

 

This really is quite a delightful thing: Typepad wrote the most charming feature about Tollipop on their site yesterday!  I recommend it to you if you are wondering what this blog is about--I myself was in the same boat until I read their masterful description.  How lovely to finally know what's going on around here!  Thank you, Typepad!  You make it sound as if there's method to this madness. 

The write-up also mentioned my penchant for giveaways...so what else can I do but announce one to celebrate the occasion?  All you have to do, dear reader, is leave a comment at the bottom of this post and sometime on Friday morning when the girls are at school I will draw the winning name and announce it from the rooftops.  The prize is to be a Tollipop print of one's choice!  Sound routine?  We would love to have you play!

I've received several queries regarding availability of the last two prints that were featured on my blog.  Thanks so much for your interest--my plan is to offer them in my Etsy shop as soon as possible.   

As for today's painting--well, what can I say?  Pumpkin is the new black, darling!  Just look how it slims!  See how it flatters!  And who says a witch can't mix a little color into her wardrobe?  It's not as if we're in the Middle Ages, for crying out loud!

finding myself in the middle of the week...

First of all, a warm hello and welcome to all those who read and adore Bloesem Kids!  Irene, thank you for such a lovely feature--it is an honor and I pretty much fell off my chair in delight.

Last night I went for a nice long run.  The skies were trying to muster a thunderstorm, which is cute for Las Vegas, and all I could think of as I watched the moon peeking through the clouds was this line from a poem my mother used to tell me:  The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.

The poem is about this dreamboat of a highwayman who has a yen for Bess, the landlord's daughter.  And who wouldn't?  She's got ebony eyes, red lips, and she keeps plaiting love knots in her long black hair!   Anyway, the pair gets dimed out by some moldy-haired stablehand who has a school-boy's crush on Bess.  He's one of those creeps who skulks around in the shadows and probably dug through her trash on a regular basis.  

So a bunch of red-coat soldiers come by the inn to set up a sting for the highwayman.  As midnight approaches, lovely Bess, who has been bound and gagged, manages to get her finger on the trigger of a gun and shoots herself to warn her lover!  What the?!  Bess, honey--did you think this one through?!  After all, this guy wears a bunch of lace at his throat! 

As you may imagine, once the highwayman realizes what has happened, he goes beserk.  I'm not sure what he was hoping to accomplish, but he wheels his horse around and comes charging back toward the inn, waving his sword in the air (note to highwayman: you do remember it was a shot that warned you, right?).  Long story short--he ends up getting blown out of the saddle. 

This was one of the poems my mother would recite before tucking me in at night...pretty much guaranteeing me not to get any sleep for the next 48 hours. 

Funny thing, because my parents banned television from the house.  They raised us on a strict diet of classical music.  We were not allowed to see Grease.  Yet my mom apparently had no qualms over filling my head with images of an illicit and ill-fated relationship between an innocent young woman and her dashing criminal mastermind.

Ah, but it's late and I have no pretty drawings to show you.  This house has been like Grand Central Station ever since school began and I feel as if I'm barely keeping up.  Perhaps I will leave you with a few photos of something I recently added to our dining experience, even though I basically discourage the use of salt and rarely let the girls use it.  It's more the idea that has me enchanted!

 

Doesn't it seem more delightful to use salt this way?  To pinch it between your fingertips and artfully let it sprinkle upon your food?  This is how I add savor when cooking and it always gives me a certain thrill, as if I'm a witch hovering over my cauldron.  I like handling spices, crunching herbs, dusting them between my palms into whatever it is I'm cooking.  Or should I say brewing?

Plus, this salt comes from France.  So that right there is instant glamor. 

 

And freshly ground pepper!  What could be more satisfying?  This blend comes from India.  India!  I feel as if I've brought the world to my table.

  

Wishing you a little spice for your day!