"Into each life some rain must fall." So goes the old adage. It never said "Into each basement some rain must fall." Probably because not everyone has a basement. But I do. And fall it did. Like a waterfall.


It came up through the floor (at a point I've known needed repair and I just hadn't done it). And, it came in through the windows, dribbling down the wall in some cases. In the worst, it was gushing as loud as a waterfall (not exaggerating -- it woke me up).

After plugging as much as I could with towels to at least slow it, I tried to start cleaning it up. I tried two shop vacs and neither could handle it. Finally the best method was dumping buckets of water into the utility sink until the floor drain could finally handle it and it began to go down. I'll be very good at bailing boats, should the occasion arrive.


And don't ask me how this happened but at one point I saw a small frog or toad, which I captured and released outside.


That was Tuesday. It's still damp in parts and smells grim but at least I can work on the clean up -- and I have been for the past few days. I am far from done -- so far, 15 trash bags are in my bin and the car is packed to the gills with things for charity that aren't damaged or smell. And there is so much more to come.


I look at every weather report with trepidation. In this, our year of rain, there is plenty to worry about but no way any of the repairs can be done right now. There are many (including several of my neighbors) who have it much worse -- they had carpeted, living basements. Mine is just storage. I lose "stuff."  They not only lose stuff but have significant renovation work that must be done.


 So back to the basement I go once I get my morning brain working. As soon as I can get things away from the walls and purged as much as possible, then I can call the de-molding people to come do their thing. It will be a dent in the England 2020 fund, but hey, it could have been so much worse. Lots of things that mattered were in plastic bins and to be honest, it forced a job that has been moved from one to-do list to another for far too long.


There have been a few good things this week, though. Rick got on a bike on the road this week. Well, riding around the neighborhood and then he realized he was doing it earlier than he should be so that might be on hold again, but he felt glad to be back on two wheels, even if the going will be uphill for awhile.



My friend Jane, whom I hadn't seen in several years, came through town with another we'd been longing to meet -- Mike, who was a great support to Rick after the accident, even though they'd never met. We enjoyed some wonderful conversations during their visit and a great lunch, too!


(This is my soup sampler -- nettle soup, seafood chowder, French onion and Peppedew Tomato. All excellent!)


Jane brought a me wonderful vintage cookbook (1941) by Ruth Wakefield, who invented the Toll House cookie. In addition to tons of recipes it has hints on stain removal and first aid!


For those of us who appreciate cookbooks as historical records of food during various periods, it offers a wealth of tidbits about cooking, serving and entertaining in another not too distant time.


I hate to think I'll ever be using the first aid advice from the 1940s, but some stuff is timeless!


Five years ago this week on a day that looked like rain but ended up being gorgeous, these two were married!


In the time since, there have been new jobs, an MBA program and best of all, two Baby Grands we adore to the max! And of course, having Molly in our family is four star! Kevin couldn't have made a better choice!


This weekend we'll head to Detroit area and for a bit of Grandlittle time while they go celebrate and the next day celebrate Father's Day. And on that note, I wish those of you with Dads around, a wonderful holiday. And for those of you like me who have made that final farewell to Dad, sweet memories.


I miss you, Dad. Every day.

The rains here appear to have stopped -- or at least stopped in my basement. I've got to fix that leak before spring! But as I write this, parts of our city are on flood watch and/or evacuation notice.


Rick and I went to Old Town for lunch the other day and to check out the river. If you look at the photo below, see the ramp in the middle of the photo on the center/right, just to the left of a bare tree?? Well, that should be WAY out of water -- it's part of our river trail for walkers and cyclists.


This was sort of a puzzler. A tree with buoys and floats on it. Apparently it has something to do with canoers are a warning but the tree holding it up came out and is floating.


And I wouldn't want to be the people whose basement or ground floor was on this lower level.


I have a feeling they're doing some major clean-up about now.


But the pizza was nice and crisp! A great day to lunch out and check out our city.


Now, for something sweet! A number of you asked about the shortbread recipe I used and the molds.


Here's one of the molds. The are made by Brown Bag Cookie Art and I'm sure there are others. They are a nice stoneware, easy to maintain and clean. I can't tell you how these recipes would work in a vintage mold. I suspect the prep might be a little different but never having used an "original," I'd check another source.


If you don't have a mold you could probably roll/pat this out about a half inch thick, give or take, and use a cookie stamp.

Classic Shortbread

Preheat oven to 325 degrees and use cooking spray in your mold.

Cream 1/2 c. butter (at room temp) and 1/3 cup unsifted powdered sugar.
Add 1/4 t. vanilla
Work in: 1 c. unsifted flour

Press the shortbread into your mold and prick with a fork (which I forgot to do and it was fine). I tend to use my fingertips to gently pull the dough away from the edge just a bit, which I think makes it easier to unmold.

Bake 30-35 minutes or till lightly browned. Cool the shortbread in the pan for 10 minutes. Then loosen up the edges with a knife and turn pan onto a wooden cutting board. Immediately cut into serving pieces while it's still warm.

The Ginger version I also made has the same procedure and timing but slightly different ingredients. And this gets a little browner.

1/2 c. butter and 1/4 c. light brown sugar, mixed
Add 3/4 t. ginger (personally, I didn't think this was enough)
1 c. flour and
1 Tablespoon of cornstarch.


Yum!

Linking up with Let's Keep in Touch at Let's Add Sprinkles    

"How cold is it there?" a faraway friend asked after seeing news reports of the frigid temperatures hitting the eastern part of the U.S. "Is it as bad as last year?"


Hmmm. Now that's a good question. For  us, the winter of 2014 began two days before Christmas 2013, when our city lost power -- in Rick's case, for 10 days. I was one of the few who didn't lose it (dilemma: Is turning on your Christmas lights like rubbing peoples' faces in it, or does it provide a little light of hope and cheer at a dark holiday time?)


Our wind chills had been in the -30s (F) and the daytimes barely above zero -- if it made it that high. Even after the power returned, the temps stayed cold and the snow kept piling up, creating records throughout our state and in much of the country.


So, I guess I shouldn't complain about -15 or -20 wind chill and official temps above zero. Like seven. Or four. Or maybe that warm day when it got to 14 degrees. This winter of 2015 is not cozy, to be sure.


When I see the news about what is going on in the East, I should be ashamed of being a wimpy winter girl. We do not have more than two feet of snow. We probably have about 18 inches. Maybe more, maybe less, depending on the drifts. My very nice neighbor is happy to earn a few bucks snowblowing my driveway and after our last foot-high snowstorm, they even plowed my street -- a rarity in my neighborhood. There have been no runs on water or food at the grocery store, I don't need to put a bookcase or chair to reserve a parking spot on the street and I can afford to heat my house. Some people can't. So, suck it up, Buttercup!


But it is cold, no getting around that one. Lizzie has taken over the house radiators. When I can't find her, I simply look for the heat sources and she's generally there. The birds are scrambling for seed. They don't seem to be eating the suet I put out though -- I have a bad feeling it is frozen and they can't get it to break apart. The snow crunches when you step on it -- not a bad sound, really. It would be rather nice if it wasn't so darned cold!


No one I know has touched tongue to flagpole this year but I suspect any moisture would freeze close to contact. You've seen the odd footprint photos in this post. (Yes, footprints, not abstract art). A recent visit to Detroit for the symphony found us parked a (very cold) block away -- really, a wonderful parking spot, free (can you believe it?) and on the street. As we walked toward Symphony Hall I couldn't help but notice these footprints (because I was looking down so I didn't step on the ice patches and go down myself!).


Footprints. Frozen on cement. I'm trying to figure out how this happened. Wet shoes touching on contact? The indentations of feet on ice -- then shallower parts of ice melted leaving the print? It is a mystery.


Yet they were magical in their own odd way. To me it said "Someone has been here before you, recently, on this side street in downtown Detroit where the media would tell you no one ever goes. They walked this street between Cass (where the 1967 riots broke out) and Woodward (once the gleaming main drag of a vibrant city that is trying desperately to come back. Maybe it was a symphony musician en route to rehearsal or someone who found the free parking and was headed to work. Yes, there are places in Detroit where people work.


It was a sign of cold, to be sure. But in its own small way, also a sign of hope. And when it's hard to get the temps above zero, hope is what we all need.