The Fault Lies Not in Our Stars (but in Snow)

What else could I do? You could try again. – John Steinbeck, East of Eden

It is embarrassing to admit it, but for the first time in about fifty years of driving, I got stuck in snow. I’d love to say it wasn’t my fault (or better yet, blame it on my saintly wife), but no, it was my fault, my fault, my most grievous fault.

My wife (Barb) and I had gone up to Sedro Wooley to visit our daughter and family, and despite her warning we should bring the pickup (due to the heavy snow on the ground) I decided to bring the car instead as it has all wheel drive, handles well in all weather conditions, and I wanted to gas it up for the weekend.

The roads were in excellent condition, thanks to the hard working men and women of the various state, county, and municipal road crews, so we made the ten-mile trip in our usual fifteen minutes. When we arrived, the roads in “Wooley” (the locals call it that) weren’t in very good shape, but still quite passable. We arrived at our daughter’s house and pulled into our usual parking spot which was, as expected, unplowed. The car came to a stop before I had applied the brake, so I knew I had miscalculated the depth of the heavy snow.

Unlike our Montana snow, which has a water ratio of about twelve inches of snow equivalent to about an inch of rain, our west coast Puget Sound snow was a much heavier three-to-one ratio. Oops.

I tried rocking the car, but the all-weather tires and all-wheel drive simply spun in place. I had miraculously converted our Suzuki into a Zamboni! The car was high centered on compact snow and I was, ironically, in hot water. Fortunately, we had brought a snow shovel with us, so I got out and began to remove snow from all around the car and as far under as I could get. My daughter came out to help and between the two of us we made a lot of space in which to maneuver the car, but we couldn’t get it off Mound Everest; we should have brought a flag to stick atop what was turning out to be the car’s new home (at least until the spring thaw).

Fortunately, a kind soul had parked nearby to pick up his child from the school around the corner, saw our predicament, and offered his help. He was about the size and shape of an NFL lineman and, after a few moments of applying his strength (and traction boots) to the situation, I was able to gain enough momentum to come off the mound and back onto the hard-packed (but smooth) road. We shoveled the rest of the parking spot (Mound Everest became a much flatter Madison Valley bench), and I parked the car as initially I had intended, and the crisis was finished off with hearty thanks, high fives, back slaps, and slowly subsiding heavy breathing (me).

Sometimes we get in over our heads without realizing that’s what we’re doing. We can see clearly what’s on the surface, but we’re often unaware of just what lies beneath. While the snow in the parking spot was only a few inches higher than the surrounding ice-packed road surface, that area is actually about six inches or so lower than the road that runs alongside it. Consequently, the moment I decided to park there, it was “Sayonara, baby.”

We all have days like that. We do the best we can, we miscalculate or make a mistake, get stuck, and then have to find a way out. I was fortunate that I had a decent tool on hand (and no, I usually don’t travel with a shovel in my car – that was serendipity). I was fortunate to have my own family at hand to help. I was blessed that a stranger had had mercy and lent us his strength. Despite several failed attempts to escape, we persevered; we did not give up; we prevailed and we overcame adversity. Thank God!

The moral is as old as life on earth: if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. After all, there’s no business like snow business. And that’s how icy [sic] it here in this, our valley.

The Insanity of Cooking

Many things get done in the world because someone had a vision of something better. Herbert O’Driscoll

I am the master of rubber eggs. When I cook scrambled eggs for breakfast, they have a taste and a texture that is cause for both awe and wonder, as well as fear and trembling. The family flees from them like Dracula flees sunlight, and that’s OK. The kids have grown up and moved away and I’ve stopped making them for breakfast.

I honestly don’t know why my scrambled eggs turn out the way they do, but I know it has something to do with the fact that I always prepare them exactly the same way. I am a creature of habit. Insanity, as “they” say, is doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results.

There is a hidden benefit, of course, which is that no one asks me to fix breakfast anymore, so maybe I’m not as crazy as those around me have thought me to be.

Be that as it may, I don’t mind trying different things and I don’t mind trying things differently. A recent craze in the world of the culinary arts, for instance is the multi-functional pressure-cooker-slow-cooker pot you have no doubt seen stacked in the aisles of local mega-marts. Intrigued, I asked for (and Santa delivered) one such device for Christmas.

Sadly, it did not come with any recipes, so I ordered a few Insta-Pot recipe books online so I could use the machine more regularly. Unlike many people of my gender, I happen to enjoy reading instruction manuals and following directions. It makes life much easier (albeit far less adventurous).

Our first dish was actually quite simple; we made a batch of rice. I tossed in the rice, water, and salt in the appropriate proportions, sealed the lid, pressed the RICE button and, voila, the machine heated up and steam poured out the pressure release valve, making it look a bit like an old steam locomotive on steroids. After a few minutes the steam dissipated and after ten minutes the pot’s timer beeped, and the rice was ready.

Interestingly, it was a bit crunchy. I discovered that the pressure cooker’s release valve should have been closed while the rice cooked. Now, I happen to like crunchy rice, but the sunshiny mistress of the house prefers it presented in its more traditional, fluffy form, so we learned from our experience and now we make sure the valve is set properly for whatever we are cooking.

It has really revolutionized our life in the kitchen. We also learned it is better to look for individual recipes online, or to examine recipe books in person. The first book we ordered was worthless as it called for ingredients, many of which we had never heard of, and called for more steps and stages than what the “Insta” part of Insta-Pot would reasonably be understood to mean!

The second volume is actually pretty good, although it doesn’t have a well-organized index, so we have to thumb through it to find what we’re looking for, and the ingredients for each recipe are listed so haphazardly that it is hard to know what has been included or left out at each stage. Be that as it may, though, the few recipes we’ve tried have been as fast and as tasty as anything we’ve fixed in a more traditional manner.

And QUICK! I have been amazed at how much quicker it is to cook under pressure (and even nicer when it is the food that’s under pressure, and not the cook!), and how tender it makes of cheaper cuts of meat.

As I’ve said, I’m a creature of habit, but I do appreciate trying new things. As one fellow said, “If you don’t get out of the box you’ve been raised in, you’ll never learn how much bigger the world is.”

I think we need to learn to look at this world of ours – God’s world, really – with fresher eyes and less fear. Maybe if I had learned to cook my eggs differently they might have proven to be more palatable for my loved ones. Wouldn’t that have been egg-citing?

In the meantime, life goes on. I’m just going to enjoy it more as pressure builds in this, our valley.