Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Ghost House

Anyone ever had roasted pumpkin seeds before? They're delicious? That's what I'm doing today: Homework and roasting the pumpkin seeds from last nights carving escepade. If anyone is wondering why I don't blog very often, It's because nothing ever happens.

Roasted Pumpkin Seeds

After picking out your seeds from the pumpkin guts, rinse them and retrieve the bits of pumpkin inside that you may have missed. Boil your seeds in salt water--2 cups water and a teaspoon of salt per half-cup of seeds. Simmer for around 10 minutes. The seeds will sink to the bottom of the pan when they're ready. Strain.

From here you have a choice: Toss your seeds in olive oil (a tablespoon of olive oil per cup and a half of seeds about) and bake at 400 degrees for 5-20 minutes (until golden brown)
Toss seeds in egg white and salt (or whatever seasoning you feel like) and bake on a greased baking sheet at 400 degrees for around the same time.

Just make sure the seeds are spread on the baking sheet in a single layer or they will stick together and won't brown as well. The crispier they are, the better the texture.
(the original recipe is here: incase you want to check it out).

Ghost House

by Robert Frost

I Dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O'er ruined fences the grapevines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that discussed and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whipporwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me--
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,--
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

I haven't had a chance to really analyze the poem, but it seemed good and eerie for Halloween. I have this class called ENGL: 2211: Intro to Literary Analysis, where all we do is analyze poetry and prose. I have really enjoyed it so far. We discussed Frost's After Apple Picking the other day, which reminded me that I bought a book of his poetry for my birthday in March and had barely cracked it open. So I gave it a look and Ghost House is what I came up with.

So, my 8-month-and-three-weeks-old son has decided that playing with the computer when Mommy is typing is enormous fun! Oh my heck, it drives me nuts. I can't do anything without him being right there inserting "+++++++++++++++++" and "11111111111111111111111" into everything. It makes homework, writing, and blogging really difficult.

Last night Ben and I carved pumpkins for Halloween. Went to Swore Farms in Chubbuck a few weekends ago and bought a few massive pumpkins for, then waited till the week of halloween to actually carve them so they wouldn't rot too soon. Mine was a Frankenstein's monster, Bens and evil genius with sharp teeth, and I carved Alex a little one with a nearly toothless grin and dimples.

We listened to a Pandora list called "Halloween Party" that played a bunch of awesome Halloween music (like "Monster Mash", Michael Jackson's "Thriller", and various Nightmare Before Christmas tracks). It was awesome and totally got me into a Halloween mood. If you can see it, we sat on the floor of my kitchen in shorts and t-shirts with garbage bags underneath us and our pumpkins to catch the guts and went at them with serving spoons, steak knives, and an exacto knife. Pumpkin massacre.

Before I go, I just wanted to say that I've been working on a project for my books this week. I'm trying to put together an encyclopedia for all of my concepts. It's very similar to what I've been doing on my Dear Character blog, but I actually want to print it off and have a hard copy available to show people. It's kind of fun.

Frost, Robert. Robert Frost: Selected Poems. Fall River Press: New York, 2011. 4-5. Print.