This weekend, we spent Easter at my mom’s. My youngest sister came out for the weekend and brought her two girls. My sister-in-law, after a wonderful vacation in Hawaii and despite three feet of snow still on the ground, showed up in flip flops and a tan. It was warm out, so she was celebrating spring.
I was in charge of the baking. I make peanut butter-butterscotch-marshmallow squares, which happens to be a family favourite. For the first time in years, the butterscotch chips melted on the very first try. I didn’t have to boil the heck out the recipe just to get them half melted. (Thank you, Hershey, for finally improving your Chipits mix!)
After my success with the squares, I was feeling pretty confident and so I moved on to the Angel Food cake. It came out of a box, not from scratch, so it was a no-brainer. As long as nobody thumped across the floor while it was in the oven, I was guaranteed success.
I only wish I’d taken pictures to show the mess I created …
I pulled out the bowl, the mixer, and my two cup measuring cup, dumped the contents from the cake mix into the bowl and proceeded to measure the water. The recipe called for one and a quarter cups of water, so I carefully measured the water, poured it into the bowl, and mixed it. Very quickly, the mixture threatened to flow over the edges of the bowl. I barely managed to keep it contained, then poured it into the Angel Food cake pan, and slid it into the oven.
While it cooked, I could smell something odd, almost like burned sugar. My oven had been cooking things quicker than normal, so I’d adjusted the time as I didn’t want to overcook the cake. Forty-minutes later, the buzzer went off and I opened the oven door.
My heart sank in my chest. The cake was half the size of the pan. I pulled it out of the oven, turned the pan upside down to let it cool, and the cake instantly belly flopped out of the pan onto the counter. What the heck?
My son and I stood there, staring at the mess on the counter. The top inch of the mix had cooked, but the rest of the cake was a mushy half-cooked mess. What had gone wrong? I had no time to figure it out because I had to head back to the store.
This time, I bought two mixes, just in case the cake flopped again. As I proceeded to begin the whole process over again, I lifted my two cup measuring cup and realized … I’d had one and a quarter cups on the brain, so had filled the entire two cups with water and counted it as one cup. Duh!
The second cake came out perfect (well, except for the part that exploded out of the pan and landed on the oven floor) and after our Easter dinner, we served it with strawberries and vanilla ice cream, the perfect end to a perfect dinner.
Will I ever make this mistake again? You bet. I’ve made the same mistake before, while my mind has been occupied with more important things, like plot holes and wonky character growth and non-existent settings. Hmmm, maybe it’s time to buy a one cup measuring cup.
Please tell me about your cooking disasters because I love to hear how other people make a mess in their kitchen.
Somewhere in the world, spring has arrived. It’s not here in my part of the world, even though March 20th – officially the first day of spring – has come and gone. Instead, we still have three feet of snow on the ground, with more in the forecast.
I know spring is out there, looming in the not too distant future, and when it arrives it’ll be time to move my office outdoors.
This is one of the big pleasures of working for myself. My office is wherever I happen to set up shop. Right now, it’s in the northeast wing of the house, where the morning sunshine blinds me from mid-April to mid-September. I have to wear sunglasses while I type or close the drapes to keep the sun out.
Have computer, will travel … all the way from the indoor office to the deck or the family room or the kitchen table. And if I’m feeling particularly adventuresome, I pack up my computer and my husband, and head for the mountains.
I feel a mountain adventure coming on. So while I contemplate packing my suitcase and computer, I’ll leave you with a little teaser for my upcoming novel THE MARRIAGE PACT:
A hotshot divorce lawyer encounters the wedding planner from hell – the gorgeous, sexy woman he met and bedded a month ago who is pregnant with his child.
If you want to find out more about my upcoming release, join my newsletter!
If you remember, last year I blogged about a new garden area we were designing. We spent the summer with a shovel in our hands, turning over the dirt, then built a small garden shed which we planned to let weather naturally so one day it would take on the appearance of those old buildings you see falling down around an old farm yard. This summer, we’ll work up the soil and fill the garden area around the shed with cedars and a variety of flowering bushes and plants.
But I’m getting ahead of myself…
This winter, while we watched the snow fly and wondered if it would ever stop, we jumped online and ordered a weathervane from the Urban Nature Store.
Then my better half built a cupola, similar to the one on this site.
Now while we wait for the snow to melt and the weather to warm, the weathervane and cupola sit just outside of the kitchen window on our deck.
Today during lunch, the wind howled and brought in colder weather along with some – soon to arrive – additional snow. Our lunchtime conversation eventually turned to the direction the weathervane was pointing in. The arrow pointed south, so I said that the wind was coming out of the north and blowing south.
Apparently, I’ve spent my entire life reading weathervanes incorrectly.
I always believed that the arrow on the weathervane pointed in the same direction as the wind was blowing. This makes perfect sense to me. After all, if you shoot a bow and arrow, the arrow flies arrow-first, right?
According to my better half and youngest son, the arrow on the weather vane points into the wind. While this makes absolutely no sense to me, I’ve decided that I’m not the one that’s directionally challenged this time (although if you remember this other post, you might choose to differ). Our weathervane is directionally challenged, pointing backwards in the wrong direction.
Am I the only one who believes the arrow on a weathervane points in the direction of the wind?
Monday night, I popped over to women’s fiction author Steena Holmes’ recently revamped site and now I have website envy. You’d think I’d be envious of her success with her bestselling book FINDING EMMA, but I know how hard she’s worked, so I’m thrilled for her success.
But her website … well, that’s a totally different animal.
You see, even though I don’t have a natural eye for design, I love designing websites and logos and images of all kinds. So when I see a gorgeous website design, I fall in love and want to redesign my own site. I love the chocolate hearts on Steena’s main logo and the rounded corners on the banners in her sidebar. Plus, she’s incorporated some pretty cool features into her site.
Like her Secret Society for book readers. Okay, I’m in, all signed up, and ready to go.
So now I have the desire to revamp my website and make it all pretty and cozy and cute, and I’m holding Steena responsible. 🙂
And while I dream about the changes I’m going to make, let me leave you with a little blurb about Steena’s popular book FINDING EMMA.
Megan is the harried but happy stay-at-home mother of three little girls living in a small town. Her life implodes when her youngest daughter, Emma, disappears on her third birthday.
Two years later, Megan is preparing to commemorate Emma’s birthday and the anniversary of her kidnapping, compelled to keep her name alive in the minds of her community and her family. Her commitment to Emma, however, borderlines on obsession as she follows the families of little girls who look like the daughter she lost.
Her obsession with finding Emma has distanced Megan from both friends and family. Her two older daughters are resentful of her relentless and fruitless search for their sister, and her husband pleads with her to accept that Emma is gone so that the family can move on with their lives.
Meanwhile, in the same small town, Jack is beginning to question his wife’s secrecy about their adored granddaughter, Emmie. As Dottie slips into dementia and becomes increasingly protective over Emmie, he can’t help but wonder if there could be a dark secret that Dottie is keeping from him.
Jack and Megan’s worlds finally intersect at the town carnival, when Megan snaps a photograph of a little girl on her grandfather’s shoulders.