The old bag blog...

Feed Your Face.

2011-01-06T09:25:00.000-08:00

I've been giving the cosmetic industry the "Hawaiian one-finger salute" for years. I'm not certain when it began, but I've enjoyed using food "cosmetically" since my teen years. I'm not alone. Most of the world's best spas use food to detoxify, beautify, and rejuvenate the skin! That doesn't mean I'm a purist. However, I prefer to use natural homemade concoctions over the commercial packaged kind. Since skin is the largest organ of the body with the ability to ingest, I just thought it wiser to use products that I would eat on a regular basis. Methylparabens - and a variety of other chemically created additives - aren't generally on my table for consumption.

Everything from coffee to papaya has been fair game in my quest for natural products to keep my skin glowing. The result is a decent collection of books and recipes that I've used over the years. I have lots of recipes for lotions, potions, masks, scrubs, shampoos, and conditioners. It's another bad habit I have passed along to my daughters - kitchen witchery!

Every decade seems to bring a new skin care challenge. What has changed in my 40's is the amount of "feeding" my skin needs. It's like Seymour, the hunger craved plant in Little Shop of Horrors, bellowing "FEED ME" daily. Add age spots and character lines (OK, wrinkles), and my relationship with the magic mirror has been strained. I have managed to keep my wrinkles to the lighter side of expressive, as opposed to the other side of "crevasse exploration" for the time being. We'll see what next year brings. My fear of needles - especially in my face - might be less pressing when faced with the prospect of marionette lines that have me looking like Ebenezer Scrooge on my best day. So I put together a few basic natural skin care products to share that have worked as well - if not better than - the more expensive commercial versions.

My favorite cleanser to date is BUTTERMILK. It's great for all age groups, skin types, and tones. You can make your own indefinitely for .49 cents a pint plus the cost of milk. CHEAP should be enough to have all you Recessionistas running full throttle to your local market. If not, here's more info: Buttermilk contains lactic acid which is an alpha hydroxyl acid (AHA). AHA's exfoliate dead skin cells from the outer most layer effectively without abrasive scrubbers; leaving your face prepped, bright, and smooth. It's an amazing cleanser and conditioner. It's everything you'll ever want in a cleanser - gentle, exfoliating, conditioning - and my favorite - CHEAP!

Buttermilk is an effective way to keep skin clear. It naturally reduces freckles, and doesn't strip the skin of natural oils. For those of us a little 'longer in the tooth', it brightens our skin, minimizes fine lines, and can reduce "age spots" - the things freckles grow up to be. I prefer to make whole buttermilk with non-homogenized milk (cream on top) for extra enzyme action and conditioning properties.

Buttermilk can be used to make other products, like soap and facial masks. Here's a fabulous recipe for a skin brightening/lightening mask. In a small bowl mix a couple of tablespoons of buttermilk with 1 tablespoon of kaolin clay, and a cap of hydrogen peroxide (3% volume). Apply with a paint brush, avoiding the eyebrows. Relax for 15 minutes, while the mask does it's thing. Then, remove with a warm wash cloth. Do this a couple of times a week for several weeks. It works. Brown spots will lighten significantly. Use it on your face, hands, and chest. This is a natural alternative to chemical skin bleach. Warning chemical skin bleach is very toxic. Avoid - period!

Replenishing Buttermilk Supply

Add 4oz. of Buttermilk ( 1/2 a pint that you'll buy in the store) to 28 oz of milk (32 oz. total) in a jar. Put on lid. Shake. Leave out overnight, and you'll get 32 oz. of buttermilk the next morning. NOTE: Use the other 4 oz. and add to skim milk and use that concoction in low fat recipes calling for buttermilk.

Next, toners. I was turned off by commercial toners in 1983 when the main ingredient in my favorite product was acetone. Basically, using paint remover to strip my face to a plasticine finish. I skipped toners until a few years back when I found a natural witch hazel with rose essence and no alcohol - a lovely product! Now, I use a white wine and rose essential oil toner. Why? I ran out of witch hazel one day, and found so did the store where I bought it. Apparently my big mouth had all my friends within a 50-mile radius buying it, as well.

Desperate, I looked in my fridge and saw a bottle of white wine. I had heard of it being used as a toner, so I gave it a try. Voila! A new favorite toner was born. And - unlike witch hazel - I never seem to run out of white wine at my house. White wine is great for (let me clear my throat) mature skin. Gentle toners provide a stimulating affect without stripping the skin of it's natural sebum.

One Terrific Toner

Add 4 oz. white wine, 6 drops of rose essential oil, and a couple of drops of Vitamin E oil in a jar, shake, and apply with a cotton ball. The tingle is fabulous. OK, now pour white wine in a tumbler. Drink, then proceed to next step.

Serums are new to my arsenal of skin care products. Serums are designed to boost your current wrinkle cream's effectiveness - natural or commercial. If you read the ingredients of today's best serums most include glycerin - a sugar - as a main ingredient. It's a natural humectant, which "attracts" moisture to the skin. It works great if you live in the rain forest regions of the US, but totally sucks in the Mountain West and dry zone areas. In fact, any product with glycerin in dry regions will rob your skin of moisture, leaving your skin with dry red patches. So ski babes skip the glycerin products on the slopes.

My serums do not contain glycerin. Instead, I make up a great little booster with rose hip, sea buckthorn, camellia, borage seed, and sandalwood essential oils in plant-based squalene oil. For the price of one small bottle of commercial magic serum, I can buy my oils and make many bottles of magic serums. I purchase the essential oil version instead of the culinary oil versions, so the initial investment can choke a horse. Console yourself knowing you're saving big bucks with the buttermilk cleanser. Also, these oils go a long way, and I use them in many different products I make.

So what's so special about these oils? Lots! They're a power group with high levels of linolenic, gamma linolenic, and alpha lipoic acids with beta carotenes and anti oxidants like Vitamin E and Vitamin C. These super ingredients are amazing skin conditioners, which reduce wrinkles, restore, and rejuvenate mature skin - all over!

Turn Back time Serum

Combine oils in brown glass bottle with dropper lids. Use a few drops for face, neck, and chest morning and evening after cleansing/toning. Wait approximately 5 minutes before applying your moisturizer, or make-up primer.

Serum Oil Ratios:

Base of Squalene (olive leaf) and/or Jojoba oil up to 20% base

Rose Hip Seed Oil up to 10%

Camellia Oil up to 20%

Black Current Seed Oil up to 10%

Apricot Kernel Oil 35 - 40% primary base oil, just leave enough for the following:

Add
Rose Essential Oil 6 drops

Sandalwood Essential Oil 6 drops

Myrtle 6 drops (in dry climates)

And my last favorite skin beautifier - Water. Drink it plain, with lemon wedges, or cucumbers - just drink it. It's good for the skin and body, as a natural skin plumper.

So feed your face to revive tired, lack luster, mature skin. I make a moisturizer, but it does require a little extra explaining to be posted later. The products I've mentioned are all natural, so small batches go along way. Store buttermilk, and toner in the fridge. The oil will sit safely in your medicine cabinet for up to a year. Start with small bottles of base oils, and graduate up to the economy sizes when you start making face creams, body lotions, and balms.

Here are a few final suggestions for those looking to improve their skin:

1) Read labels, and get to know what you're putting on your skin.

2) What goes in comes out. Load up on fresh produce, grains, and go easy on the fast food.

3) Skin care products are not created equal, natural or commercial. Know the company you're purchasing your products from intimately. Include essential oil manufacturers in that list.

4) This is the toughest! Make friends with the magnifying side of your make-up mirror. You know the side I'm talking about. The one that magnifies your face to grotesque proportions, revealing every wrinkle, enlarged pore, pimple, and spider vein. When you see these "imperfections" up close and personal ,you'll get a new perspective on your skin's needs. If you're able to look at your skin big, you'll know whether that $150 jar of magic wrinkles-be-gone cream - or your own homemade version - is doing it's job.

Put your best face forward this year, and give "natural" a try. Feel free to post comments, results, and share your fabulous recipes for great skin.

I Believe...

2010-12-06T12:43:00.000-08:00

I Believe

by Anita sherman

I Believe in Santa

This much is true.

When I tell you my tale

You'll believe in him too!

On a strange twist of fate

My girls joyfully listed,

The things they both wanted

Weren't today's fads, electronics, or fishes.

Among their lists were toys

That I played with at task

Based on stories I've told

About my Christmases past.

Of many hours spent

With favorite Disney books

My collection of trolls,

And a blue elf named, Zood.

They loved all my stories,

'When I was a child...'

Spending hours playing make believe

And being quite wild!

So it made me very sad

When I received their wish lists

Filled with those things

That have long since been pitched.

Lucky trolls, Disney books,

And a blue elf named, Zood

Aren't common things to find

In our mountain 'Hood.

Looking the lists over

'Til my brain was quite sore

Thinking, 'Where will I find these -

'And shop at what store?'

I searched all consignments

From Denver to Grand Junction.

My head started spinning

And my heart started thumping!

I called up my Mom

And gave her a wail,

"Why didn't you save this crap for my kids -

In gosh darned toy jail?"

"Are you nuts?" She said -

"Your acting like a dork -

How was I to know I'd have to wait 40 years

To get grandkids from the stork!"

"You're memory forgets

All the kids in need

Of fun toys and good books

for which you took heed.

When you grew out of those things

Off they did go

To others less fortunate.

Don't you remember it so?"

"Well look where I'm at," I said.

"Not a toy or book saved."

"Now my girls want those things

That I had as a babe."

We laughed at the moment

My butt being stewed.

A fine pickle for Christmas

I desperately needed that Santa dude!

In a flash - a think - popped into my head.

An epiphany one might say.

Maybe I should check out

What's selling on Ebay!

Quicker than poop through a goose

I typed "trolls" on Bing.

Low and Behold -

I found the darn things!

Trolls, and Disney books, and blue elves galore

"Holy Whiskers," I gasped.

I found all my items

And MORE.

My eyes they did pop

With my heart all a flitter.

I started the bidding -

My nerves all a jitter.

As each auction ended

And "YOU WON"

Appeared on my screen,

I was filling my girls lists

With these silly old things.

Now some would give thanks

to the collectors' of stuff -

And consider my belief in Santa

Nothing but fluff.

But it takes thoughtful action

For hoarders to hoard -

Turning junk into cash

For their room and their board.

My girls wanted things

From the memories I shared.

It wasn't so much

the 'material' goods that they cared.

It was a piece of their Mother

They'll never know as a child

When trolls, elves, and books

Made her Imagination run wild.

Remembering something - so small

Brought my girls great joy.

Moments of laughter

With those silly old toys.

A memory they wished for

To have and to hold.

Thank you, Dear Santa

For turning 'remembering' into gold.

When the stuff is all cleared

And there is nothing to want -

It appears what we need

Is a little joy in our hearts.

I stopped believing in Santa

By the time I was four.

No cookies for Santa

To be left near our fireplace door.

Despite my young age

Wanting truth at all cost,

Risking a childhood without magic?

Not all of it was lost.

Santa's been with me

I know - all along

And didn't care much

For my doubtful Grinch song.

I was given a gift

When the toy memories failed

Falling in love -

Having Children.

Yes, the Magic prevailed!

No matter your religion, skin tone -

Or station,

What makes us all equal

Is the gift of our Imagination.

Make Peace with your past

For you'll never know -

How It's transcended.

A piece of your past

May wind up being

Somebody's Present.

May your Years be filled with Magic!

2010-08-21T05:41:00.000-07:00

The Glamorous Life...

2010-02-16T11:31:00.000-08:00

It was a late night, or early morning - I'm still dazed. The 3-year old was vomiting around 2:00am. Her nose was runny, she had a fever. A few congested coughs later, it was clear she was sick. Remove the sheets, add new ones, Cuddles (cough-cough), cuddles (cough-cough), a little tylenol, and she falls asleep around 3:30am. There would be no school for her today. I'm dogged, and the alarm goes off at 6:20am. The oldest still needs to go to school. OK, grabbing yesterdays jeans from off the floor, and hope there isn't a loose pair of panties in the legs. I hate when they fall out in public. Good, no panties in the pants, but no clean one's in the drawer. Commando, again! Kids and dog in the car. Phew! The dog still smells like skunk, despite the $50.00 I spent to get her de-skunked last week. We're now half way to school. Great, I'm still wearing the shirt from last night. The aroma matches the stale juice, coffee, and skunk smell permeating through the car. Too late to turn around. I know, I'll just drop off the big one at the front door, and let her go into school alone. Kiss-Kiss, have a good day. Done! I need caffeine.

It's now 12:00pm; I think Kenzie's asleep. I decide to take a break from studies, and pull up my blog to type some random thought. Just as I'm ready to put fingers to keyboard, I hear the squeak of a door opening; then the 'clomp, clomp, clomp' sound of little feet wearing Mommy's shoes, coming down the hall. First thought, "She's not sleeping?". Clomp, clomp! Second thought, "How long has she been awake?". Clomp, clomp! Third thought, "She's been in my closet again." Clomp, clomp! Fourth thought, "Did I leave my make-up out?" Clomp, clomp! Fifth thought, "It's time to move away from the computer!"

The clomping stops. It's Kenzie Kaye; standing there like a rosy-cheek cherub - head still pocked with scalp patches from last week's episode with the scissors. She's wearing my 4-inch heeled shoes, and nothing but her best smile and a tutu. Her sister's tutu! She's says, "Hi Mommy, I not doin' nothin'." Sixth thought, "She's been in my room, AND her sister's room." I ask, "So what 'nothing' aren't you doing?". "Nothing with the walls," she says. Seventh thought, "She's gone Picasso on the walls, again." Eighth thought, I go brain dead. Thinking just hurts right now. Instinctely I know I'm going to have to deal with some unforeseen parenting situation that's not in my child development books. Thank the Goddess, it's not a PMS day.

I decide it's time to investigate. I'd better breathe first, and try to think where I put the Mr. Clean magic sponges. My nerves are re-rattled when she says, "I not do nothin' with the walls. OK?". Then, adds, "I no want your bad attitude, Mama!?" I'm no longer brain dead, I'm frantic. Ninth thought, " Just breathe." Once again, I've under estimated the level of silence in the house, and mistook the calm for a sleeping child in her bedroom. Silly me, I should have checked, but I was too busy assuming she had put herself down, and shut the door to keep the cat out. DOH! Tenth thought "Dumbass. Like, she's EVER done that before? How stupid could you be for assuming she was asleep?"

It's days like this I try to reflect on my views of parenthood prior to being one. Like the time Jack and I were choosing our pediatrician before Avery was born. The pediatrician asked us what our 'visions of parenthood' were. Jack's response was genuinely sweet with his engineer brained analysis -saying things like, 'ups, down, moments of intense joy with some difficult times.' Essentially, he was clueless, and did his best to BS his way through the Doc's question.

My summation was a bit more to the point. I was up 45+ lbs in my eighth month of pregnancy, retaining water, hungry for my 7th meal, and getting crankier by the minute. I took a moment to gather my thoughts and said, "I'm picturing this linked iron chain wrapped around my body with something like a spiked ball attached to the end of the chain. I'm focused on the ball, and think 'it was tough passing that thing, but I can't help feeling like that was the easy part.' Each time I move the chain gets tighter, that ball keeps getting closer, and it's screaming. I'm holding the spiked ball, and realize it's not going away anytime soon - not for another 21 years. It wants to be held and fed. Since it's definitely not going away, I have to figure out how to deal with it - quickly." It takes a lot to shock my husband, and from the look on his face - akin to someone throwing a wet cat at him - I managed to do so that day. I just shrugged at him, and said, "Well, she asked!" The pediatrician smiled and said, "Of all the new mothers I've spoken with through the years - and that's quite a few in Salt Lake City - I'd say you're the first mother to sum things up quite nicely. Welcome to being parents." She was hired!

I had assumed an owner's manual would be attached to the baby. If the Creator can give a previously infertile 40 year old woman - with all the maternal instincts of a cactus - a child, attaching an owner's manual doesn't seem too out of the question. Seriously, how the hell are parents expected to raise 'God's little gifts' without the damn directions! After delivering Avery, I was very concerned the manual was missing. I asked the OBGYN, if she'd mind checking around. I was certain something was left behind by the look of my deformed abdomenal area. She simply looked up at me through my straddled legs, and said, "You're a sick woman. Sorry, no manual you're on your own. My job is done." She was shaking her head, and my husband was giving me that same look he gave me at the pediatrician's office. HAHA, twice in less than a month! It was a moment when I realized the placenta was simply a magic plug that inflates 'guilt bags in the brain with eyes that pop out in the back of our head'. I could see Jack behind me, AND I felt GUILT for shocking him. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt - an odd feeling indeed!

Suddenly, I snap out of my trip down memory lane, and realize where I'm at. Fast forward 8 years. It occurs to me that my "back of head eyes" were obviously sleep deprived from the 2:00am puke fest that morning, and were shut tight during Kenzie's mad hiatus with whatever "nothing" she was doing to the walls. The 'mouths of babes', should only be 'pleading the fifth'. With a big smile on her face and arms up in triumph, Kenzie says, "See. I no use crayons or markers on the wall." If the truth be known, I wished she had. She's potty training, and has had a bit of a time grasping the concept of wiping. We view this time as a team effort. However - on this magic day - she decided today would be the day to give wiping her best shot. In her efforts to be a 'big girl', she somehow forgot that the sink is 'what we use for messy hands'. Somewhere in that experimental brain of hers, a thought fired off, 'forget the sink, let's just use the walls, instead.' Further, she decided it would be far better to go into her sister's room, grab the Barbie's and roll them in the 'fun' along with snagging the tutu to hide the "smudgy" on her bum. I'd normally breathe and count to 10, but frankly the stink prevented me from doing so. She looks up, and says, "JoJo (the cat) did it." I respond, "Nice try." She says, "OK. Coco (the guinea pig) did it?" She gets the 'Mommy look'. I realize 'passing the buck' is sooooo genetic. My grimace tells her she's in deep. Kenzie starts to cry.

More deep breathing. Where's a bag. I'm hyperventilating, and ready to vomit. I start rattling off bad adjectives under my breath, and attaching them to my husband's name - because, you know, he's really to blame for all of this. The SOB is enjoying a fabulous ski trip in Canada at this moment. How convenient to be out of "cell phone service" in the backcountry of the Canadian Rockies. Just like him to be unavailable, while I'm stuck being a parent on this stellar day. And when he does call me, I'll have to tell him, "I've killed your youngest child." Still more deep breathing. I'm light-headed. It's the stench. I've got to go outside.

Kenzie is still sobbing. POOOOOOOF! The "guilt bag" inflates. I look at her. Poor little thing, she's sad, and I'm scaring her with my "Mommy is pissed face". I start a conversation with myself, "Relax....remember Avery peeing in Kenzie's soap bottle, as a practical joke last summer? Only, you were the one who actually washed your hands with it. Remain calm. It could be worse!" "Like what?", I think back to myself. "I don't know! Just get through this one!" My brain is still throbbing. This conversation with myself is scaring me.

I'm breathing at a normal rate now - with a calm voice I say, "Kenzie, this is a sink." I'm waving my arm around it like Vanna White. "We wash our hands in it when they are messy. Please use it in the future." With her best sad and sobbing crinkled up little face she says, "OK. Mama." Man this girl is good. I thought Avery had it down, but I've got protege #2 working it. She's got me, but I hand her a rag anyway, and say, "You need to help Mommy clean this mess." She takes the rag, and starts wiping the clean wall. Whatever! I have to pick and choose my battles at this point. So I proceed 1) Pick up the kid, 2)whisk tutu off, 3) In one fluid motion -shower on, hand kid the soap, and throw in the tutu, 4) rubber gloves on, 5)Barbies in the sink, 6) spray the walls. 7) wipe. I certainly live the glamorous life!

Then I think, "Why doesn't this shit happen when Daddy's on duty?"

Po-li-tica and a Prayer...

2010-02-08T11:12:00.000-08:00

I just got a call from an old HS friend. I was so excited to hear from her. Eventually the conversation took a strange turn. She shared that she was somewhat shocked with my "political views" after scrolling through my Facebook page. She said, "I never remembered you being so 'out there', if you know what I mean. "No, I don't", I replied, "Why don't you fill me in." She went on to say that she remembers me, fondly, as the "Happy, loving people type". Always ready to help someone in need. Interesting perspective, I always thought of myself as a bit of a "hippie-beatnik type". She went on, "And you were always so upbeat." I could feel my eyebrows pinch together with a look like someone passed bad gas. "So, what am I now?", I asked. "Well,"she said, "You seem so liberal, and political, and narrow-minded! You're page is filled with articles, news clips, and weird politics. It really shows how liberal and narrow-minded you are." I couldn't resist the opportunity, and asked, "How can one be liberal and narrow-minded at the same time? Is that sort of like, Fascist and Marxist?" "That's exactly my point," she replied, "You're just like the rest of those liberals, who like to make others feel bad about how they feel with no tolerance for other people. You liberals..." I interrupted, "...And don't forget narrow-minded." "Yes, that's right. You's (totally Rhode Island slang) guys seem to think you know everything, and smarter than the rest of us, who know how blind you are."

I went silent, and thought, "Wow. Did I just enter the fucking twilight zone, and where is this conversation going?" Instead of hanging up, I was genuinely curious, and asked. "What do you think I should know about myself, our Country, and our world in general?". Believe me, she was ready with a scripted response! "Well, the President you're supporting is ruining our Country. He's a socialist, and wants to take all of our money, and give it to black welfare mothers, who can't stop having children, and fund terrorists to kill the rest of us." I'm intrigued! She goes on with, "We are living Revelation. Barack Hussein Obama is really the Anti-Christ." I stopped her and said, "Well which is he? The Anti-Christ or a Socialist?" "What?" she asked. I continue. "Well, by today's labeling standards Christ was a Judaic-Reformational-Socialist. Consequently Pres. Obama being the "anti-Christ and a socialist" is an oxymoron." Very annoyed she says, "There you go slamming Christians. Do you know this is exactly what the Bible said was going to happen. The world is going to end by 2012." I start thinking, does it really say that in the Bible? Calmly I say, "How did we go from me being a 'cheerleading-loving people type' to a 'liberal, narrow-minded po-li-tica, supporting the next oxymoron socialist Anti-Christ' to the world ending in 2012 according to the Bible? I'm confused." "That's what I mean," she says with affirmation, "You people and your views are the problem with the world. You're all confused. Don't you see what you're doing? You're following the Devil." I reply, "Isn't Barack the the Anti-Christ?". "It's the same thing", she yells back. "Oh. My mistake. I'm not a Christian," I said. In a very calm authoritarian voice she replies, "You're not going to be saved, if you're not a Christian." "Saved from what?" I counter, "Didn't you say the world is going to end in 2012? " Silence.

By now, I was feeling a bit full of myself, and asked if the Bible mentioned me by name? "You think this is one big joke! The world is ending, and all you choose to do is joke, and make fun of others who won't support the Devil." "You're right," I said, "The fact that the world will end is a real bummer, but I have to pick up my kids from school before it does." In a sweet voice she said, "I'll pray for you," I managed to say, "Thanks." End of call.

There was a time when I would have argued her to the death with a logical sequence of slams on her faith, views, and fears. Instead, I gave her what she was looking for, a little affirmation in her life. I was truly flattered she cared enough to call. No, I don't think Obama is the Anti-Christ/ Devil. I guess I never pictured any "Devil" building a swing-set in the backyard for his kids, or a veggie garden with his wife. Seems a tad optimistic for a guy who wants to send our tax $$ to terrorists to kill us all. But just in case Obama is the Devil - and the world does end in 2012 - then I am very happy to go to Hell! If her call was any indication of the Christians I'll meet in Heaven, I'm raising my hand for the underworld with hopes of riding fast 'n furious in a hand-basket; holding a handle of JD in one hand - and waving my fluffy red pom-poms in the other while listening to Pearl Jam on my iPod - wearing a flashing neon liberal badge! I'm certain the conversations in Hell will be far more interesting - and jovial - with the heathen masses, than the one she and I had.

Do I think she's whacked? Nah! It's her truth. Guess that's what happens, when life's not going well. She's divorced, unemployed, and looking for a little control and sanity. If calling me with a born-again script, offering nothing more than a prayer to make her day, I'm cool with it. We all need a little boost, now and again. Just glad I was there for her.... (Eyebrows still pinched). I finally relax, pull up my FB page, and deleted her from my site. Eyebrows now un-pinched, I breathe; choosing to believe our "friendship" has ended on a happy positive note - just on the slight chance the world doesn't end, and we see each other at our 35th HS reunion in 2015.

Profile saved.

The bad Mom....

2010-02-04T06:41:00.000-08:00

It's 7:41 am, and the girls are still in bed. School starts at 8:30am, and it's a 30 min. drive. They looked too angelic in their beds to wake them. Yes, they stayed up too late. Sure they were "playing us", using their charm and smiles to stay up past bedtime. Yes, they'll be late for school....again. Life's too short. I'm a bad Mom for letting them sleep in, and bending the rules of "responsibility".

My Counter Culture...

2010-01-03T07:17:00.000-08:00

Simply stated, I've become a microbacterial girl living in an antibacterial world. I'm obsessed with fermentation. Move over Arnold, and make room for the Fermentator.

The family isn't always approving. It's an addictive world, that hooks one into gastronomic exploration and microbial voyeurism at first bite. It's both irratic and erotic, and I'm addicted. Being a good fermenter is learning to be part microbiologist, mad scientist, detective, and kitchen witch. It's also a good idea to have a thick skin. Expect criticism! Not everyone will share your enthusiasm for eating bacterial experiments grown in jars on your kitchen counter.

Fermenters speak and live in a strange adventurous world. It's true! My mind pulses daily with visions of creating the perfect kim chee, instead of sugar plums! Screw those empty caloried, cholesteral laden crullers, give me a home-grown, hand-crafted loaf of sour dough bread, and a glass of Australian Shiraz to wash it down. I could publish lengths of nutritional reasons why one should eat "live cultured" food - but will refrain. Fermenters should always live by the code 'live and let live - until it ferments'. We simply enjoy the value of food in a naturally altered state, and believe it's all good, once you get passed the fact you're cannibalizing a primordial ancestor.

Our fridge is filled with "feel good" edible fermenting wonders, like, sparkly kefir, homemade buttermilk, and yogurts. AH, humble tranformational yogurt! Power packed with living, breathing, fornicating bacteria with the added benefit of being an amazingly powerful super food. It was my first batch of homemade yogurt - not home brew - that got me hooked on fermentation. Many jars and mistakes later, I'm now known in my small inner circle of addicts as the 'yoguru'.

I don't use a yogurt maker, and donated mine 7 years ago in favor of mason jars and a stock pot. We eat a lot of yogurt, and the poor little machine couldn't keep up. Further, I find pleasure in adjusting the water temp to change the yogurt's consistency and tang. My stock pot method appeals to my control freak nature. I've managed to hook a few others into my world, and occasionally get calls like, 'Help! My yogurt hasn't yo'g, yet!','Why is my yogurt so watery on the top?', and 'I have 4 jars of sour-something! What do I do with it, now?'. I get a quick burst of sunshine blown up my skirt, when I'm able to offer reasons, and solutions, to a culture crisis. Sort of fills my glass half full of optimism and hope that life's problems can be tackled one experiment at a time.

In that spirit, I'm offering my best tips to all newbie fermentation explorers: 1) Never make yogurt and bread on the same day. Yogurt is versatile with sweet or savory blends, but bread flavored yogurts smell like shit, and 2) Always trust your nose when making fermentation projects at home. Remember, some things aren't meant to be tasted!

I get a cheap thrill when my projects are ready to be sampled. Last month's pink sauerkraut is almost ready - a simple recipe of water, sea salt (always nutrient rich sea or mineral salt), red and green cabbage, and time. The girls and I will experiment with a raisin and cherry sour dough starter today. Yes, I've hooked them on fermenting, too. The girls love to feed and watch the sourdough starter bubble in it's jar, and affectionately call the bubbles 'yeast farts'. Jack is always overcome with emotion, and says, "Nice work Mama. The 3-year old says fart."

I find comfort in the process of fermentation, relying on an inner wisdom that outcome is often determined by the care, cultivation, and breeding of the product being fermented. Fermented products generally get better with age, and the harder it is to cultivate, the more time it takes to ferment. If it doesn't work out, one can always chalk up mistakes (missteps) to shit happens, and move on! I'm learning how to compost with worms, as well. I find that fermenting food has a way of slowing things down, micro-managing time one mason jar at a time. Gee, there seems to be a metaphor for life in there somewhere?

The new year offers tremendous opportunities for challenging my "fermenting" skills. Amasake is on the list, and my miso microbes should arrive within the week. I already have plans for the perfect kim chee with high hopes that my finished product will produce something closer to my expectations. If life could be as simple as a good ferment! Speaking of "ferments" the girls are fighting over a black crayon. I love my girls, but it's mornings like this that I'm glad Jack's cultivator is "fixed".

Homemade Buttermilk 'F__k the pricey face cream' cleanser recipe:

Best economical cleanser for life for the initial price of a pint of buttermilk! Pour milk (whole is better) in a 16 oz. mason jar, leaving some room at top. Let it sit to room temp (2 hours), and pour 1/4 cup buttermilk into the jar. Allow mixture to sit over night. Voila! Buttermilk.

The natural active enzymes in the buttermilk release the proteins that keep dead skin cells attached to your skin. Rub on wet face, and rinse. You can add ingredients like almond meal for more exfoliating power; a couple of drops of essential lemon oil to normalize combo skin; essential rose adds additional restorative moisture requirements for those of us over 40. You can make great pancakes with the rest. AND, failed yogurt experiments are a great substitute for buttermilk.

Welcome 2010!

2010-01-01T09:19:00.001-08:00

This was my first resolution. Create a blog! Right now, the Mommy guilt of not choosing something more family oriented has me in that all too familiar spiral of thoughts like, 'shouldn't I being playing with the girls?', or ' shouldn't I be attacking that mountain of laundry sitting on the guest room bed?'. And yes, the dog needs to be walked, but it's practically -30 (ok I'm fibbing it's 15 degrees), and on and on. I don't expect this blog to be anything inciteful, enjoyable to others, nor a place that fosters answers to the great mysteries of the Universe. I do hope it will be a place for me to journal my way to being a better wife, mother, friend, and balance in 2010. All of which, need serious improvement.

It's been 5 years since my last journal post, and that's far too long for an old bag who's been doing it since she was able to write. And so, my youngest daughter is stuck under the chair with what smells to be a load in her pants. The oldest has one of her guinea pigs in the living room. Great, it just pissed on the couch. My husband can't find a paintbrush. All signals that it's time to sign off.

Here's hoping to figuring out what to do with a blog in 2010. - the old bag