Ball In Play!

Wrote most of this several weeks ago, thought I should finally finish it up and publish it...

So I've been trying to write this blog for a few days now, but just can't seem to... what? Spit it out? I get caught up in describing my love of Oregon (the trees, the rolling landscape, the farming, the wine, and don't even get me started on sweet potato fries or the hazelnut milkshakes) or I start thinking about the weather (muuuuu-uuuddy and cold and wet. I know, there's a shocker), which, of course, makes me think of my love of soccer, especially on foggy days (running in the cool mountain air and crashing into people, occasionally kicking a ball... good times), and thinking about cool weather gets me to thinking about how I'm holed up in my room with the perfect writing conditions (blankets, laptop, cup of coffee and a pint of Dove Caramel Pecan Perfection with a ganache layer! The ice cream not me. And the sound track to BSG: Season 2 playing "Roslin and Adama" on repeat. Like I said, perfect). Pecans get me to ruminating on my plans for Christmas (I had about a kijillion cookie recipes lined up in preparation of a baking fit that, sadly, did not happen), thinking of Christmas gets me to thinking about the movie I just watched called Joyex Noel (which was good, weird Scottish brothers aside, I'd recommend renting it) and wondering how exactly one pronounces Joyex Noel... but man! If you give a mouse a cookie, or moose a muffin... I mean really! All this stuff, all this fluff is just a cutesy way of segueing into what I really want to write about.

I learned something about myself this week.

This is big news as I'm generally a kinda out of it gal. A bit obtuse to the world around me? Perhaps. Living in my own pink haze? Closer. A big dumb Labrador of a human being swinging along through life enjoying the view from a wreaking ball chain? Ooo, that! Anywho (again with the side tracking. Geesh! If you give an animal a baked good they're just going to ask for a beverage. Am I right?), since I'm not Miss Sharp 'Round the Edges, self discovery is always a bit of a what? Surprise? Mostly. A painful surprise? Sometimes. A painfully hard to explain surprise? There you go. And as with any self-discovering-kind-of-thingy it's easier to move through the epiphany explosion going on in your being than to describe it to others and not sound like a... kooky person? No. A cookie person? Only at Christmas or if there are mice around. A person who avoids painful confrontation and accountability by following endless tangents? Ouch, I'm getting there. First the baked good, then the beverage, then all sorts of demanding woodland animal meets stupidly accommodating human hyginx! There's a progression here people, stick with me.

Sunday I talked to friend about a heartache.
Monday I talked to a stranger about the unknown.
Wednesday I talked to a family member about loss.

It was a chatty week. And what did I bring to the table, to the topics of conversation? Gems like: "we will refer to him as the runt from here on out and we will eat vast amounts of ice cream (with a ganache layer) asap" or "what!?!" or the favorite: "ball in play, sister." This is why they call me Beth the Wise- my scintillating and thought provoking verbage. Here's the thing though, that lame "ball in play" thing got me to thinking. Yes, about soccer and Oregon weather and Christmas and cookies and mice and mooses, but also about how fear of loss, the unknown, heartache, life, can stop us dead in our tracks, or rather me.

See, prepping for a catering gig has the ability to freak me out (yes, I know I don't cater anymore and that's true, mostly, but follow along here anyhow). A lot of planning and hard work goes into each job, into making each event perfect, or as perfect as I can get it. And perfection requires some heavy lifting. The clients happiness and my pay check are at stake and if I blow it? Let's just say, yikes. So stress and anxiety build till the event begins and then well, the ball is in play and I have no more time to worry. It's time to do the job for better or for worse and let the outcome worry about itself because I have stuff to do. Ball in play. Here's the kicker- outside of a gig fear of loss, the unknown, heartache, or just plain not doing things right leave me paralyzed. And I know you're thinking, "oooo, wow, some epiphany... the paralyzing fear of perfection." But by not doing things "right" I don't mean perfection (though up until a minute ago I thought I did) I mean fear of failing God's will.
Crap.
I know, I mean, I KNOW Jesus didn't promise me a rose garden, but there it is. I have this fear that not doing things right, His way, will lead to discomfort or pain. Which it can, but it also sometimes doesn't. Just like following His will can lead to joy or it can lead to painfully stretching ourselves, myselves. Right Sybil? Crap, and again I say, crap! Two for flinching Beth, and two more for doing it all the time, and two more for telling other people they shouldn't, and another one because...

One of my favorite quotes is by Oliver Wendell Holmes (I know, your world just tilted) who said: "I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving: to reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it -- but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor." I, of course, paraphrase that into, "God can't steer a boat that's standing still." ...and your world just righted itself. How many times have I stopped dead not knowing what to do, where to go, how to act, who to be, what to be, where to be? My life has been a spastic lurching trail. Fear leaves me indecisive and at a stand still, then circumstance comes and tumbles me along.

So I fear failing God's will or missing it. Because if I get it just right, do the thing He wants life will be smooth sailing? HA! Why do I hesitate, panic, then hesitate some more whenever life changes up? The ball is in play, the ship is at sea, life is happening and God's will be done in the playing, the sailing, the mixing of metaphors!

So the car gets crashed.
So the business is an unknown.
So that boy's a jerk.
So the other car won't run.
So the family frustrates the hell out of you.
So the pay check isn't stretching as far as it should.
So
So
So

So if the ball is play, the girl is gonna want to play soccer, and if she plays soccer she's gonna wanna play on a muddy field, muddy fields can be found in the very wet state of Oregon, Oregon has lots of hazelnuts, hazelnuts are good ground up in chocolate shakes, if the girl drinks a hazelnut chocolate shake very fast (which she will because she gobbles her food) then she will get a headache, her headache will remind her of her friend's heartache, which will make her think of loss and fear and God's will and, oddly, sailing. She will think of life and how it is rarely smooth sailing, but that's ok because the ball is in play and that is what matters. And that's why, children, you never give a mouse a cookie, a moose a muffin, or a Beth a blog.

So
So
So
So play soccer in the mud and fog.
So plan a plethora of Christmas cookies.
So eat sweet potato fries with lots of salt and ice cream with a ganache layer.
So mourn with friends.
So sympathize with family.
So encourage a stranger.

So trite.
So true.

So there.

Whew!

More BSG Coolness!

Say what you want, but jumping into atmo to release fighters then jumping out? Simply AWESOME!!! Oh, and the soundtracks (season 1 and 2) have tako drums even! Tako drums!! Sci-Fi Friday my house at 9. Toaster lovers welcome.

Pumpkinpalooza is Saturday October 28th!

It's that time of year again! Time to come hang out with the Foxes and wallow in the glory of the pumpkin (or punkin if you'd rather). Each October we purchase a glut of pumpkins (last year we were up to 30) then invite a bunch of people over for carving and eats. This year we will continue with our all pumpkin menu, but we will also try on few new traditions. That said....

Something old:

Dinner will be around 7ish and yes, our menu will remain the same with the traditional pumpkin sausage pasta, baguette, and tossed green salad with pumpkin seed viniagrette. Dessert will feature pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin cream puffs, chocolate pumpkin orange cupcakes, and yes, pumpkin pie. Wanna bring an appetizer? Some bread? A beverage? Another dessert? That would be great! Give me a jingle.

Something(s) new:

Carving will begin around 4. We will provide a few carving implements, plenty of sharpies and newspaper and, if you need one, a pumpkin. You provide the skill, inspiration, and any special tools (i.e. stencils, exacto knives, leather/ceramic tooling kits, or electic helps such as jigsaws, drills, or extension cords).

This year will mark our first judging of the carved goods. If your jack-o-lantern wins you shall be dubbed High Pumpkin Mucky-Muck! To acknowledge your superlative pumpkin carving skills and incredible creativity we will slap your name on a tacky trophy and grant you one year of bragging rights. Afore said trophy will accompany you home where it will be kept in a highly visible place (we think your mantle or kitchen table best) till next Pumpkinfest. Huzzah!

After bellies are full of pumpkiny goodness and the jack-o-lanterns are all lit, we'll sit and sip on cider and listen to tales of pumpkins... scary, silly, short, long, fictional, or real it doesn't matter. The only rule is your story must have the word "pumpkin" in it or somehow, in someway pertain to pumpkins. Best story will be met with laughter (or tears as it might merit).

Something borrowed:

Cool thing about having had a catering business is we have all sorts of entertaining goodies like chaffing dishes, serving pieces, linens, and just mass quantities of silverware and plates. What we lack are CHAIRS! Please bring a couple of folding chairs if you can. They will be MUCH appreciated.

Please no camp chairs. Wielding a knife and managing a heavy gourd while perched in one of these flopsy bits can be a messy undertaking and we live a long way from the nearest hospital.

Something blue:

You. Please dress warmly. We're hoping that with Saturday's forecasted clear weather and some hot cider we'll be able to pull this shin-dig off outside. We'll have a roaring fire inside should the need for warmth and shelter be neccessary, but the bulk of activities are going to occur in the backyard so bring a jacket, your favorite lap blanket, and warm socks.

In short, this night is meant for good friends and good food and the sounds of merriment, oh, and pumpkins... which have for too long been missing from our home...

Listen! the wind is rising,
and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings,
now for October eves!
- Humbert Wolfe

RSVP to Beth

Because Kathie Asked...

So went to visit Kathie in Idaho last weekend and I bought some groceries foolishly thinking that I might do some cooking. PLeeZe! Between all the pumpkin beer, chips, and chocolate (oh yes, and the candy corn- musn't forget that) who had time or stomach for real food?

Anywho, one of the things I left in Kathie's frig was a mess of radishes and she wanted to know what to do with 'em. Well, you can clean and stem them then submit them to the ranch dressing treatment, but that is so boring and for some people raw radishes are too peppery. Me, I like to cook them in some butter with a clove or two of diced garlic and some salt and pepper. Cooking them mellows the flavor considerably and the garlic, well, makes them garlicy.

I don't have exact measurements because this is really one of those from the hip kinda dishes. Just make sure your radishes are about the same size, if you have to cut some of the larger ones in half go for it. How much butter? As much as you want it's your heart, though I find 2-3 tablespoons sufficient. Cook the radishes with the garlic until the radishes are pink and tender-crisp. Don't cook on too high a heat or you'll burn the garlic, but a little carmalization on the radishes is a tastey thing. Salt and pepper to taste.

I like this dish because 1) you can always find radishes 2) they are always cheap and 3) no one ever thinks to cook 'em which makes them fun to serve to guests. Grill up some chicken (rubbed with olive oil, salt, white pepper, maybe a little cumin for Holly), make some rice (like that rice dish you make in the wee birdie casserole), warm up a loaf of good bakery bread (or if you're feeling all Martha-y bake some), put some heavy cream and a bit of salt in a mason jar and have a guest shake it into butter (cheap party trick that you can eat- always the best kind of trick- the kind you can smear on your warm from the oven bread) while you cook up the radishes (they don't take but a few minutes) and look, you have a party!

A Clash of Addictions

So with the season premier of Lost on Wednesday and the season premier of Battlestar Gallactica on Friday I am all a-quiver! Man, if only they would bring back Firefly my TV watching experience would be complete. Anyway, I found this the other day and laughed my head off. This is for the rest of you Battlestar Lost freaks (meaning Chris and Lisa):

Dwight Schrute's Blog: Lost Battlestar

The Summer of Pops and Clicks

So Uncle Vic says I need to post something. It's been awhile, I know. So much has happened I'm not sure what to post about. It's been a crazy summer. I worked myself into brokenness. Seriously. In May we moved to a 120-acre farm, where we hope to stay until we can afford to buy a farm of our own and June! Well, June was all about jumping from one thing to the next and it's where I got broken, or rather finally broke...

Life became: cooking for a gig, meeting with a client to set a menu, handling emails, cooking again, heading to a prayer meeting, setting curriculum for Sunday school, prepping to teach, teaching, cooking, cleaning the commercial kitchen, pulling messages and answering phone calls, cooking for the fam, cleaning the house, laundry, laundry, laundry, shopping for a gig, unpacking from the move, then cooking for a gig, meeting with a client to set a menu, handling emails, cooking again, heading to a prayer meeting, setting curriculum for Sunday school, prepping to teach, teaching, cooking, cleaning the commercial kitchen, pulling messages and answering phone calls, cooking for the fam, cleaning the house, laundry, laundry, laundry, shopping for a gig, unpacking from the move only to start cooking for a gig, meeting with a client to set a menu, handling emails, cooking again, heading to a prayer meeting, setting curriculum for Sunday school, prepping to teach, teaching, cooking, cleaning the commercial kitchen, pulling messages and answering phone calls, cooking for the fam, cleaning the house, laundry, laundry, laundry, shopping for a gig, unpacking from the move, cooking and so on and so forth it went, or rather I did, like the proverbial hamster.

I had no time to rest, no time to think, or pray, or be because there was always something waiting for my attention, waiting to be accomplished or dealt with. But I should be able to do all these things I reasoned. With Christ I can do all things yes? Open wide your mouth and I will fill it He said. Hadn’t God done that? My life was full, full to choking. If only I was more dedicated, faithful, responsible I could do what needed doing, I could keep from choking on my blessings I reasoned and again I would plunge into the busyness.

About the middle of June I found myself catering a wedding for 230 guests. It was really a strange gig. When I first met with the bride and the groom they assured me the reception was going to be for around 150 people and as we got closer to the date the numbers kept going up. That just doesn't happen. Numbers go down usually by about 20% not up, but we pressed on with a shrug and a fake-it-till-you-make-it philosophy.

When the night before the wedding we found out that the tablecloths that had been ordered were, in fact, napkins and we couldn't get a hold of the linen guy we scrambled, found new tablecloths, and pressed on with a these-things-happen-and-it's-all-in-how-you-handle-it attitude and a smile.

When all the church ladies who offered to help with the reception and my hired assistant didn't show up to help until 40 minutes before "go time" I freaked, sloppily begged (as only a truly desperate person can) a couple of friends into helping, and pressed on with a go-with-the-flow-even-if-the-flow-is-a-rip-tide-that-will-ultimately-drag-you-into-shark-infested-waters, er... calm.

When the mother of the bride decided to forego the standard Jordan almonds wrapped in tulle wedding favor I applauded. When she then COMPLETELY filled the frig with 230 mint green boxes of Parisian macaroons and told me that they had to stay refrigerated and could I put them out for the guests just before they arrive I did my best to summon that Ninjitsu-earth-student-just-learn-to-endure-gracefully-like-the-rock-endures-the-slashing-storm spirit, a sort of stoic professionalism, but when faced with cooking for 230 with just a barbeque and a microwave (because that's all the reception facility had) with a short staff and now no refrigeration? Well, my head popped off. Clean off. "POP!" Just like that. No more head.

I don't know how audible the pop actually was or if anyone noticed that my head was missing 'cause I just kept on keeping on. It's hard to get worked up about the buffet getting trashed because people are behaving like piranha having a go at a water buffalo carcass when your head is missing. And I kept on moving through crisis and calm, prepping and plating food, clearing tables, washing dishes, directing staff and volunteers well into the night while, again I remind you, completely headless. I finally got to go home and rest for a day before the next evolution began, the next gig and was sorta thinking that perhaps my head would grow back sometime in the night, because it always had before.

My life had become chaotic, so completely immersed in the busy that I had become used to being used up, never fully rested, feeling like I was not so much accomplishing anything as just surviving, enduring, pressing on, pressing through, walking around without a head, a zombie life. Strange thing to get used to really. So I awoke waiting to feel something again, something to let me know that my head had grown back and that I cared again- tiredness? Frustration? Hopeless? Uselessness? Patience? Grey emotions sure, but emotions nonetheless right? Well, I'd like to tell you they were there with the new day, but they weren't. There were no emotions, no thoughts, just existence and I moved through my days filled with a static-y white noise. Occasionally I'd mourn my lost emotions, but it's hard to cry when you have no head so mostly I'd just move on to the next thing waiting. And I was half thinking that someone would notice, you know, my lack of a head, but no one really seemed to. I'd hear, "you look/sound tired" and I would want to laugh. Just tired? Is that what decapitation looks like? And I'd wonder if they were missing their head or maybe just their eyes.

I was finally broken. I had stopped caring and you can’t run a business when you don’t care because you stop answering the phone and responding to email, but you also can’t have a life without rest and there had been none for me. There was never rest just avoidance; just telling the waiting projects and to-do lists to hold while I rested my eyes a bit. It wasn't intentional this lack of attention to my business and responsibilities it was more like an involuntary reflex, like closing your eyes when you sneeze or bracing for impact. And now here we are. It’s been about 3 months since the night my head popped off and my emotions fled. I’d like to tell you that my life has dramatically changed, that I have learned to simplify and feel in technicolor once more, and just oh so many other new and uplifting things, however, life doesn’t slow down just because you do, rather it sweeps you a long, ass over tea kettle, for a time.

The catering business is no more. The only thing left to do is clean our stuff out of the commercial space and I confess that I have little energy or caring for that task. And there are other responsibilities that pull on me still, however, the other day I was looking over a project and it was pointed out to me that it wasn’t a one Beth job, that it in fact required at least 11 other people to help. No amount of one person’s initiative or faith can make this project a reality, but hands, many many hands. And something clicked and I felt hopeful. So that’s something, right? Who knows maybe my head is growing back? It’ll be nice to wear a hat again.

Smacked by Hebrews 13:2

So I was thinking about writing a blog entry that had nothing to do with either ninjitsu nor food.

*Gasp!*

I know!

I thought, how can I have a blog called "shuriken and chevre" and not include something so related? Then I thought, it's my damn blog and I'll write about anything I want to! Sheesh, as if I had to have a blog for every different thing that entered my head...

So I was shopping for my garden the other day (for vegetable starts in particular) and I met, possibly, an angel. I say "possibly" not because I don't think you can actually meet angels in the flesh, but because she asked me what my sign was. Call me old-fashioned, but I have a hard time seeing Michael or Gabriel wondering where I fall on the zodiac, but what do I know? Maybe they wrestle St. Peter for the Times horoscope? But I digress...

I was shopping in that mega-mart Fred Meyer (for those of you who don't have Fred Meyer, it's owned by Kroger Foods the same people who own Ralph's in Cali and is known as... well, Kroger everywhere else) and it's the only place that I know of that you can buy an engagement ring, a bar-b-que, 5 pounds of hamburger, a package of Hanes undies, and make a deposit at your bank all in one fell swoop. Frightening isn't it? So back to my encounter... I was shopping for plants when I encountered a woman of about 70. She wore a floral dress and a plaid over coat (both polyester, and no, aside from their material they didn't match), and a red bandanna-style hankerchief over her shoulder length gray hair. It was the kind of outfit that makes you stop and look for the orthopedic shoes and stockings rolled to the knee. She was a close talker, who liked to hold my arm when she spoke to make sure I listened close. She had, I kid you not, those cat-eye style glasses that were popular back in 1958 and, well, they seemed to suit her. As if she had been wearing them for so long that they were as much a part of her as her ears or arms. She was very wrinkled and a bit stooped and found me while I was nosing my way through some pretty sad looking zucchini plant-lets. "See anything worth buying, deary."

Yes, she said, "deary." I'm not making this up.

There was a reason the plants were on sale for .79 cents. They were all leggy and a bit brown about the edges. Clearly they had been left a bit too long in the sun and in their bitty containers. "Well, a few of these zuch's aren't too bad if you get 'em in the ground quick and the pickling cuc's seem ok." She kneeled down next to me and asked me to find her a nice zucchini plant- maybe in the back there. I began pawing through the plants while she told me about why she doesn't like dill pickles (she prefers bread and butter pickles, thank you) and why both are too much of a bother to make at her age. She laid her hand on my arm and I closed mine about hers as I helped her up. It's been harder this past year to stand up-right for her you know. Getting down is easy enough, but it's the getting up that takes some doing. And on and on she went.

I smiled vaguely and listened for a bit then attempted to go on searching for my own garden, but she kept talking. Gosh, she thought I was pretty, and were those my boys? Such fine looking boys reminded her of her father... he was good looking too. What did I do for a living? Catering? How exciting! Her people were from Europe originally, but her parents worked out there in Hollywood cooking for famous people, you know. She, herself, never really had the knack of cooking like her parents (they were Bohemian), but she loved the flavors of that fine European cooking they did. Was I European? She's European, Bohemian. I'm Polish?! Well, of course, she could see that I was now that I mentioned it. I looked a lot like her people... the Bohemians. Well, all these plants looked a bit tired to her and she was going to see if maybe she could find something better. And she wandered away.

Sometimes I think I really am a piece of crap. I mean, I had been trying to politely extricate myself while she had a hold of me and was talking, talking, talking and then she was gone and all of a sudden the day was a bit less sunny. I had a lot to do, important things to do, I don't have that much time off. I certainly didn't have time to be trapped talking to someone in the grocery store even if it was a lonely, little old lady who dressed like she was fresh off the Carol Burnett show.

Yep, I thought, I am crap.

"Well, those other plants are too expensive. I guess I'll have to get one of those zucchini after all. Could you find me one that's not too spidery?" She was back! I found her a plant and listened close as she pulled on my arm. How old was I? That's all? I look much younger. Is that my husband over there? Well, wasn't he a fine looking man for someone with no fuzz on top. Not many men could carry that look, but he is quite handsome. She even liked his goatee. The husband could only take so much examination before wandering over to the pricey heirloom tomato section. I soon followed him to find some tomatoes of my own.

I remember when I was in my 20's a friend and I went out to dinner at a horrible little diner. While there we were approached by an older man in a wheel chair. He had no legs and was quite grubby. As he pulled up to our table we braced ourselves for the expected question of a hand out instead he began performing magic tricks! We were surprised and not a little entranced. As he rolled away we were quite blessed and thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. Our evening was better and brighter for his brief presence in it. We thought he would come looking for something, instead he gave. And this last weekend while I shopped for my garden I was given another gift- another blessed meeting. A person walked into my life and brightened it, blessed it completely in a brief moment. I wonder, will I recognize the next angel in strangers clothing or will I continue to approach those around me with cynicism and exasperation? Will I ever get to the place where I can bless others in such a way- wooing them away from dark expectations?

Before I left the store I stopped to buy a tomato plant for my new friend. It was a Black Krim (it sounded like a rather Bohemian variety) and it was neither leggy nor brown. When I gave it to her she protested, then looked at the woman she was talking to (a new friend she had found among the tired starts), "should I take it," she asked. "Yes," said her new conversation partner. And so she did. She leaned in close, held my arm, kissed my cheek and said, "God bless you."

He did.

Hungry?

So found this site today:

lunchloaf.com

It's a site "dedicated to the lost art of luncheony loafiness."
Yes, luncheony loafiness.

They even sell t-shirts! I'm eyeing the tomato aspic one and I'm thinking I might get baby Ode a creeper to match. Just seems right somehow, that a Skaggs child should crawl around with a recipe for aspic across his backside. Maybe I can get one in time for Re's shower, hmmm....

Alright All Ready!

All this clamoring for me to actually put up some content.
Ok, ok!
Not much of a writer (signed on to Blogger mostly just to leave snotty notes on other peoples blogs), however, I hear the will of my public and I obey.
Now, if I only had something to write about... maybe just stick to the basics? What shall it be shuriken or chevre? Maybe a bit of both?

Ninja class has been pretty mello. We've been working on a bit of gymnastics, which for the most part is fun, but I gotta tell you once you're past 30, anything more involved then a summersault is potentially dangerous to your body and just damned difficult unless of course you're the non-ninja visiting friend who shows up at class for a few chuckles and nails a front handspring on his third try (bastard).

Have achieved my advanced blue belt which means I'm working on water technique (read: evasive movement). Need a laugh? Water is supposed to be a more female friendly form as it's about reacting to an attack and parrying it away (as opposed to standing there and taking it like earth or attacking like fire. My Shodoshi says my personality is very water like (read: reactionary) so one would think this would be right up my alley having fluid on the personality and owning a uterus and all, turns out, not so much. Again, need a laugh?

See water often requires you to do tricksy things like foot work. HA! Lunge in, strike, lunge out and to the side. Ha-HA! Want to have some real fun? Give me a piece a bubble gum to chew and stand back and wait for the fun to begin. Geesh. Sadly, my favorite movie line, from that sci-fi classic THEY LIVE ("I'm here to chew bubble gum and kick some ass and I'm all out of gum") can never be apart of my pre-fight taunting routine. How sad for me.

Put me in earth and let me endure, I'll stand there and take the punch, hell, it'll probably just piss me off and sending me careening into fire where I'll begin hitting strikes out of my way and then move in for a Glasgow kiss. Ovaries and a mercurial personality should be good for something other then tearing up at Kodak commercials! Blasted footwork! Grrrrr! Grrr! Frustrated much? O, a touch! Wind should be a real hoot, there's twirling involved.

As for the actual shuriken... got a couple braces of throwing daggers. I told my Mom she'd be proud of me, as I choose these petite jobs that have hearts carved in their handles- tre girly. It's not the cheer squad Mom, I know, but baby steps, baby steps. I haven't had a chance to train with 'em yet, most my knife work has been taking place in the kitchen. Speaking of which...

The kitchen is where I am currently typing, when what I really should be doing is washing dishes, cleaning out the fridge, or mopping the floor. *Sigh* This catering thing is exhausting. Too exhausting even to write about just now, so on the chevre front I'll just say do yourself a favor and pick up a Shun utility knife when you can- they're amazing! The one my MIL got me for Christmas has been dubbed "the Race Car" and is the most used knife on the board. Can't afford such luxury just yet? Treat yourself to some St. Andre triple cream brie (I think Trader Joe's carries it) and try not to think about bitchin' cutlery you don't own.

More adventures in the life of ninja foodie, hopefully, soonish.

So This Is What It's Like To Have A Blog...

Huh.