This Blogpost Will Be Complete...

I love flan.

Problem is, no one else in this house likes flan. And while I say I could eat an entire flan...

I can't.

However, if you take tiny ramekins and fill them with a custard like substance, let it set and add sugar

what's not to love? cream, sugar, cream?

and a BLOWTORCH

The people most concerned with me using this were the ones who gave it to me. What were you thinking?

SOME people, felt I wasn't doing this right.

You wind up with French Flan*, or Creme Bruleé. 

a little spotty but no less delicious.

It took us a while to remember how to actually use the tiny blowtorch, causing me to state, 'dessert will be ready as soon as I figure out how to work this blowtorch'.

Around this house, nothing says 'Honey, thanks for all you do' like a dessert which requires a blowtorch.

It also spawns a whole new perspective on life.

I'm going to do the dishes, ONCE I FIGURE OUT HOW TO WORK THIS BLOWTORCH.

I'm running to the grocery store, ONCE I FIGURE OUT HOW TO WORK THIS BLOWTORCH.

I am going to take care of the cat box, ONCE I FIGURE OUT HOW TO WORK THIS BLOWTORCH.

Just don't let the cat near the blowtorch.

I'll never have to ask them for food again, ONCE I FIGURE OUT HOW TO WORK THIS BLOWTORCH.

*I am aware that flan is more of an egg based custard while creme bruleé is more of a cream based custard. But seriously, they are not so different as to warrant the complete refusal to eat one and not the other, people.

I will make more flan, creme bruleé, once I figure out how to work this blowtorch. Again.

No animals or humans were injured in the writing of this blog, or eating of this dessert. There was one minor incident involving the blowtorch and its can of propane refill which thankfully was made to code. I am a little concerned that we may have planted a seed with the cat.

So Deep

I have been disengaged of late, too caught up in work and house stuff and whether Jill or Jessa Duggar will get engaged first.

So, when Bart suggested we squeeze in a day sail on a recent Sunday all I could think was sure – that pile of laundry in the corner of our bedroom probably won't come to life and murder us in our sleep. But I am a pleaser*, so we went sailing.

It is not easy to sail here on the Coast of Illinois. Oh sure, that Gold Coast has a Great Lake right there. But thanks to geology, we here on the Southern Coast have the Mississippi River – which is great if you are a barge operator or Mark Twain, but not so great if your boat is a 15 foot, Bermuda rig with a small electric motor. There are logs floating downstream which are both larger and faster.

Yes, this picture is from the dead of winter but use your imagination and switch out those ice flows for logs.

The Army Corps of Engineers has tried to rectify our lack of one enormous lake but placing various smaller lakes within a short drive. Armed with coffee, cheese and Margaritaville Radio, we choose the medium size lake 90 minutes away.**

I love road trips. Conversation generally rambles from one topic to the next spurred on by road signs and movie quotes but my brain was stuck in a continuous loop – work~bills~upcoming events~laundry~dinner~work night dinners~upcoming bills~laundry events – you get the picture.

It wasn't until we had launched, cleared the cove, caught the breeze and Bart handed me the tiller and main sail sheet that my head cleared. 

no, my toes aren't cold, the polish matches the stripe on my swimsuit. it was purely an accident. shut up.

Because here's the thing about sailing – you have to be 'here'. With a shift of the breeze you can speed across the lake and just as quickly the wind will change, the rail will dip into the water and your fizzy water will shoot across the deck as your cheese and sausage flies off the cooler. You have to pay attention to the sail and the wind or the boom will take you out of the boat and into a great big wet, slightly chilly wake-up call.

this is the view from over the rail (or 'side of the boat' for you non-sailors) you probably will never see this sort of view unless you are hanging over the edge with the camera, or throwing up.

As Bart so elegantly put it, "the minute land moves away and the boat catches a rolling wave, everything else rolls away too. Now, grab my tiller...hehe...hehe.."

Sailing can cause very deep thoughts. And turn your husband into a twelve year old boy.

But essentially what he said is true.

I have been on water most of my life, in power boats and skis, even a canoe or two. I have always felt more connected to who I am when I am on the water.

I probably have a hundred sail pictures. I just love them.

And while I have only been sailing for three years; really paying attention for six months...the minute the sails catch a breeze and we begin to skim across the water with one rail in the spray I reengage. 

looks like I know what I'm doing, doesn't it

*by 'pleaser' I mean 'a person who will do anything to put off doing chores on a sunny weekend'.

**Rend Lake was our choice on this particular sail.

 

There is no serious conversation, unless it concerns the weather and possible boat names – "Endlessly Groovin'" -good name- "Colon-Oscopy" – bad boat name. "Exsanguination" – really bad boat name but "Sangria Nation" most excellent boat name.Our boat is 'Blue Skies'.