Scout Moves

I like chocolate. I mean, I really like chocolate. The darker the better. Something just short of unsweetened sounds just about right to me. I have a great recipe for flourless chocolate cake that I make a few times a year, and everyone loves it. No. 1 invited a friend over for dinner one night when I was serving the stuff, and the kid declared it the best dessert he'd ever tasted. Maybe he was being a polite guest, or maybe it's just that good. Either way, when I ran across a recipe for flourless brownies the other day, I couldn't wait to give it a try. How could it be bad? Well, the recipe aside, sometimes things go wrong in the kitchen. For starters, the recipe came from The Guardian, so it calls for ingredients measured by grams. I have no way to measure grams, so I used an online converter to change that to cups, but isn't a gram a measure for weight, whereas a cup is a measure for volume? I might be wrong about that, but it seems to me you can't simply convert

I know a lot of people are concerned about the cost of the new health care bill/law, and possibly with good reason. I'm not sure anyone can say for sure how it will affect everyone now and ten years down the road. But when I heard people at rallies and in my own Small Town newspaper saying that health care isn't a right—with someone even comparing it to driving privileges—I wanted to scream. No, it didn't just make me angry, it made me sad—sad that Americans could be so uncaring about their fellow citizens as if it's every man for himself. It isn't, you know. It can't be every man for himself, or we'll all come tumbling down. That's what I think, anyway, so here is today's opinion piece in the same newspaper where someone else equated health care with driving, something you've got to earn. ••• Congress passed a bill that reformed elements of our health care and instituted laws governing the insurance industry that helps us pay for it. Two days la

Last snow anywhere near Small Town, is my guess. We spent the night at the lake house the other night and woke up to a solid dusting of snow. Winter at that house is more fun than summer, I think. Here are few shots of the place just before the snow melted.

So, I started thinking about how I like to paint on small pieces of paper, and I wondered why that is. I decided I am afraid to work larger because a bigger piece of paper means a bigger commitment, and in a pessimistic sense, more paper to throw away when disaster strikes. But that's ridiculous, right? How do you learn if you don't take chances, even big ones? Or especially big ones. I pushed my 5x7 watercolor paper aside and sat myself down in front of an 11x15 sheet. I chose four color tubes from the stash and dove in head first—a brave concept for me because I'm afraid of water deep enough to dive into and rarely venture into the deep end of my own pool. With a large brush, I painted wide strokes of water on the sheet but not edge to edge. I wanted wet edges to stop the colors from bleeding corner to corner. This is the first scene I came up with. I love the sunsettishness of the sky, but I'm not sure I like the blowing-through-a-straw effect on the tree tops. Maybe

500 Words, a short-story game administered by Dive at Small Glass Planet . This week's sentence is taken from Willa Cather's slow-burn masterpiece Death Comes For The Archbishop. It is: 'Muerto,' he whispered. Miss Bernice and the Newts Miss Bernice Haversham slapped her purse on top of the desk and unzipped it. She reached in and pulled out a bag of peanut butter cookies she had made, a full set of finger puppets she had once sewn together for her own children now grown and a bottle of hand sanitizer. She squeezed some out in the palm of one hand and coated herself against the germs she was about to contract. As she began to steadily lower herself into the too-small chair beside the desk, she spotted a boy standing in the corner by the bucket of wooden blocks. He looked at her and then at her purse, and he looked down at the spot of floor in front of him. Miss Bernice remembered one more thing she had forgotten to retrieve from her purse, and she heaved herself back

Isn't this sheep cute and attentive to the camera? It may be in poor taste to show a live animal as you're about to talk about the cooked version, but photos of raw meat are never appealing. So, excuse the illustration I've chosen to accompany a lamb recipe. Buying lamb at my local grocery store is a hit or miss activity, and I think they only sell it in weeks leading up to Easter. Once when I was determined to serve grilled chops for dinner, I went to five different stores in three different towns before giving up. Over the weekend, I discovered they were selling boneless leg of lamb. I've made lamb stew and roasted lamb chops, but never a leg. I prefer not to think about body parts when I cook meat, and with beef or pork, it's not an issue. We don't cook leg of calf or boneless pig leg. Anyway, I went to work looking for recipes for cooking this thing that looks like a roast, and I combined two to come up with this: 1/4 large onion roughly chopped 3 garlic clo

We've decided to sell our lake house. And by "we," I mean Husband. I'm not opposed, really, since we hardly ever go there, but now that I have to pack up and walk out the door, I'll miss it. The house is only 25 minutes from home, but it just seems like there is always some reason not to go, or just to go for one night at a time. Husband declared from day one there would be no cats in that house, so we can't just go there for a week without my having to drive home twice a day to feed the furries. When Eustacia lived at home, marching band kept us away on fall weekends; my graphics work was done on my monster Mac at home, and my horn playing was done at home. With all of those interferences, finding time to go to the lake more than occasionally became a conundrum. This is hardly the time to be selling a house a lot of people would buy as a retreat and not their main residence, so it's been on the market for months and months. But now, just in time for sprin

As I've already described, I toured the United Nations a couple of weeks ago. That visit convinced me we are citizens of the world, and not just citizens of a specific country. Not to suggest we do away with our borders or sovereignty, but I believe we are our brother's keeper, and our brothers live all around the world. With that in mind, here is my opinion piece in today's Small Town Newspaper (already, at 6:30 am, there are unpleasant online comments, so I won't be checking them today): ••• Preventing another world war is in the best interest of everyone, but working to end extreme poverty is just as essential. Out of hunger and thirst comes anguish, and out of anguish comes desperation and desperate acts rippling into waves that affect us all. This message was impressed upon me after a recent tour of the United Nations headquarters in New York. I know very little about the United Nations, so I was eager to learn what I could from the tour. The tour guide explained

Last fall, Husband and I took an impromptu trip to the Grand Canyon, and while there, I took this photo of the canyon just as the sun was setting: This week, I took another look at the photo for watercolor inspiration, and this is what happened: I'm not wild about the idea of painting from photographs, especially since watercolors lend themselves to depicting surreal views of the world. Without looking at the photo but still having the general color palate in mind (and mixed in front of me), I threw together this 5x7 version of what I recall seeing while standing on the canyon edge: I think I like the throw-together versions better—ideas more than actual images. What do you prefer?

Here is this week's 500 Words story as assigned by Dive . his week's sentence was taken from E.M. Forster's 'A Room With A View'. It was: 'It tasted partly of the paper in which it was wrapped, partly of hair oil, partly of the great unknown.' Miss Bernice Takes A Job Miss Bernice sat with her feet pressed together and her knees spread apart, and her mint-green floral skirt draped in the gap like a swag. Her garters were slipping, so she tugged at them through the cotton fabric when she thought no one was looking. She adjusted in her seat, straightened her shoulders and held tightly to the purse on her lap. She would wait for her name to be called and would prepare her answers quietly in her head. It was always a good rule to follow—be ready when called, and know what you want to say before you open your mouth to speak. Bernice was good with children, she thought, because she’d raised five of them on her own. Pulled them up by the stems into adulthood—tall,

So, we toured the UN while we were in New York. It's an easy walk from Times Square, tickets are $16 each and tours begin every 45 minutes. The place is an impressive sight as you approach it with the sun reflected in the administration building and all flags flying. I learned something about those flags—they are flown in alphabetical order according to the countries' names as they read in English. They start with Afghanistan in one corner and end with Zimbabwe, and they don't fly in inclement weather or in honor of a monstrous disaster—they weren't raised directly after the earthquake in Haiti, for example. I also learned why the buildings across the street from the UN don't face the street with their main entrances. You might think that's for security reasons, but it's actually because the land used to be home to slaughter houses—big, foul-smelling, unsightly slaughter houses—so nearby buildings were constructed to look away from them. The UN is all about

One day last week while Husband was in meetings, Eustacia and I took a cab to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It's in Central Park at 82nd Street, and we determined that was too far to walk from Times Square. The Met is huge and so full of everything, you couldn't possibly see it all in one day, and as we entered the lobby, I remembered what Eustacia said after a couple of hours at the Tate—"My head is sinking down into my spine, and I can't hold myself up any longer." So, we planned to just look at some highlights and not try to do too much. We started with the Egyptian artifacts. This is Eustacia standing in the tomb of Perneb, a court official from the 5th dynasty. We took a gander at some sarcophaguses and funereal gold, and tributes to a female pharaoh: And then we found a bronze-age Starbucks: We had lunch in an atrium with Tiffany windows, and then we spotted this studiolo, a tiny Italian studio covered with thousands of wood inlays. It was built for "

Today's opinion piece in Small Town Newspaper is about the theater. Our Little Theatre performs several shows a year, and it's a shame they can't do more. We don't take full advantage of this thing our town sometimes overlooks, but I'm inspired to go to every single show from here on out. Olivier's quote about how a village's theater reveals "probable culture" makes me grin a bit, because lots of people around here think we lack culture of any sort. I once overheard a musician at My Favorite Place for Joe complaining about that very thing and saying he could find more culture in a cup of yogurt than he can find in this town. I prefer to see the Little Theatre as a visible sign he's wrong. ••• My daughter and I recently accompanied my husband on a business trip to New York City. During the day, we amused ourselves around town, but in the evenings, we all met up for dinner and a show. As much as I enjoy reading and could watch movies from sun up

I haven't had time to paint anything fresh this week, but I did find some time to play on the computer. It's been quite awhile since I've done any work in Photoshop, and I'm probably rusty with the more complicated tasks. Adding photos to paintings came back pretty quickly though, like riding a bike. Last week, I gave you this water color impression of Times Square, a part of the city that is caustic to my delicate sensitivities—lots of flashing lights night and day and constant noise, not to mention the people. Oh, the people. This week, I give you this: It's a combination of the original painting blended with five photos I took while walking around Times Square. The area really wasn't as bad as I remembered, at least not during the day when the crowds are thinner than in the evenings. The half-price ticket booth is a wedge building with steps on the roof where you can sit with a cup of tea from Jamba Juice and take it all in. While Eustacia and I were doing ju

We're back from New York, but today is a busy today. Instead of spelling out the trip moment by moment, I'll just recap it quickly with photos. That may be a great relief to some who prefer not to have to relive every single minute of my mini-vacation, those types who do not want to stop by for tea and an interminable slide show. But don't worry—I'll be back later with more details, days and days of details. In fact, we were only in New York for three days, and I bet I could turn those days into an entire week of blog posts. First, we stayed at the Marriott Marquis on Times Square. I don't have a photo of the place, but this is what was just outside the door, so many lights around the clock that it never seemed to be night time: The hotel is in a great location because it's within walking distance of all the major theaters and dozens and dozens of restaurants. And it has an amazing elevator system that has you waiting no longer than 30 seconds for an elevator no

In reading about women in history, I ran across a story of one tough broad, Sarah Rosetta Wakeman. Since I didn't include her in today's opinion piece for Small Town Newspaper, I'll tell her story here: Sarah was the oldest of nine children in a poor family in New York in the 1800s. To help support the family, she became a domestic servant, which was about the only job available to women at the time outside of prostitution. The pay was dismal, and when Sarah learned she could earn more as a man, she disguised herself and worked on a canal boat as a coal handler. Then she learned she could earn even more as a soldier for the Union Army. She joined the 153rd New York State Volunteers as Private Lyons Wakeman and fought as a Civil War soldier for two years, completely disguised and sending most of her earnings back to her family. She died in an army hospital of dysentery, and even then wasn't detected as a woman. Her family saved all of her letters which are now published

Today's gallery will be in two parts—free-form flowers and New York, although they could both be under the general category of spring, as in spring is coming. Part 1: Earlier in the week, I tried painting flowers that I had drawn based on photographs. My hope was to end up with a painting that looked like identifiable flowers likes poppies and orchids. I wasn't wild about the finished results and felt a little constrained, so I decided just to wing it. On 9x12 paper, I let the brushes find their way, and I used a straw to blow the pooled paint "outside of the lines," you might say. The first one is a collection of three flowers. I don't know what kind of flower these might be, but I think they don't have to be of any existing type. If Dr. Seuss can create foliage, so can I: This is a single flower—funny how I feel the need to make that clear—and I think it could easily be a rose. I really like how the colors naturally bleed into each other—if you lay down the

Small Town's Little Theater is presenting Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella over a period of three weekend. It's the version written for television in the 60s and originally starring Julie Andrews. The little theater is actually little and probably only holds about 250 people in squeaky seats that will put me in need of knee replacements if I have to sit in them for more than two hours at a time. The concession stand sells Pepsi and M&Ms, and the cast stands out front to shake your hand on your way out the door after every performance. All of the productions use local talent—acting, singing, directing, costuming, set design and sometimes pit music. It's all put together by volunteers, and the building is maintained using private donations and corporate sponsors. There are some people who mock this little theater, people who have lived here for decades but have never attended a single show because they assume it would be like attending a middle school performanc

...and how some music affected my mood. Saturday evening, Husband and I drove up to Eustacia's college near Cleveland to hear her band concert. She plays trumpet in a concert band made up of students from all majors. Her college is known for its conservatory, and her band is for students who aren't going to make music their occupation. They just love to play. We battled the weather on our way up there (a drive of about an hour and a half) because it's Winter 2010, and you can't go anywhere without battling the weather on some level. We had a quick dinner at our hotel, and then rushed over to the concert hall. We parked about a block away and then trudged through the elements. We stomped the snow off of our shoes as we entered the lobby, shook off our coats, sat down and took big deep breaths. We're in. I can't say my heart was racing, but I certainly was not calm or in the right frame of mind for a concert. But then the first batch of students came on stage, a 1

Shouting the Ohio State football spelling of Ohio as the title of this post is sort of a joke because I really dislike football, and I am annoyed by the level of importance it's given here in this country and in this state. But yelling O-H-I-O with people does demonstrate a sense of pride for the whole state. It's a secret handshake. For those of you not following college football, here's how it works: someone yells O-H, and then someone else yells I-O. No. 1 graduated from Ohio State and has heard the "handshake" where she lives in Berkeley. Husband once "shook hands" with an Ohio fan at the airport in London. It's everywhere. With state pride in mind, here is today's opinion piece printed in Small Town Newspaper: ••• Today is officially Statehood Day for Ohio, commemorating the day in 1803 when the Ohio General Assembly met for the first time, the day Ohio’s government officially went into operation. The settlers here had to clear a hurdle or t