Driving Lessons

I have been driving for a long time.  20 years, in fact.  Ok, you might be looking at that a little cock-eyed, considering I'm still only 30, and the legal driving age in the state of Illinois is still 16.  And no, your math is not wrong.  I started driving when I was 10.  I also almost had my first accident at the age of 10, but was fortunately rescued by Paw.

Not only have I been driving a car for 2/3 of my life, I've been driving a 4-wheeler for 26 years.  Yes, at the ripe old age of 4, I started driving a full size ATV by myself.  So, the story goes something like this:  My dad had come back to the house for some reason, most likely lunch.  And he needed a ride back to the field he was working in.  My brother, who was 7 at the time, didn't want to go with my dad to drive the 4-wheeler back, but apparently I was willing, so my dad let me.  And I lived to tell about it.  Or, more appropriately, I lived to re-tell the story, because I don't actually remember this happening, being only 4 and all.  But my dad has told me the story often enough that I actually believe him. And every time I get on the 4-wheeler, I am greatly amused at the warning sticker that vehemently states that absolutely no one under the age of 16 is allowed to drive it.  Tee hee!

But there has been one form of driving that has eluded me most of my life.  Driving a tractor.  Yes, I grew up on a farm, where these things were driven all the time, but my chores leaned more towards the cooking and cleaning side of keeping the farm going than actually doing any of the hands on, in the field type of work.  I think there might have been a couple of times where I somehow limped a tractor from one side of the driveway to the other...but that's really about it.

A few weeks ago, I was helping my dad change some lights in one of our sheds.  I was sitting on the tractor, dad was in the bucket of the loader tractor, which I got to lift up so he could reach the lights.  Let's never say that my dad doesn't trust me.  And I kinda was able to move it forward and backward a few feet.  And when it was time to put it away, I told my dad I wanted to drive it to the other shed.  Let's just say, I finally got there.  After the tractor died 8 times (not kidding) and I'm pretty sure I never got it out of first gear.  But I did finally figure out what this "throttle" thing was that my dad kept telling me about.  And how it was used.

It wasn't long after that, I said to the dad "Dad, I want you to teach me how to drive a tractor.  I mean, real lessons." 

Considering I have a slight proclivity to get the lawn mower stuck in the mud (3 times so far) it might come in handy one of these days.  Plus, part of the whole reason for me living here is so I can help out.  And help out I shall.

The dad took a deep breathe, and said Ok, but not right now.  Then one day a little over a week ago, I was at the mom and dad's house, and the dad and I were doing some work on one of their flower beds, and tearing apart the old well house.  And the dad let me drive his awesome, adorable (yes, I really used the term adorable in reference to a tractor...but seriously...you should see it) orange Kubota tractor.  Now, as far as tractors go, it's really easy to drive.  It's an automatic, and you push on one foot lever to make it go forward, and a different one to make it go back.  Easy peasy.  However, when I tried the same trick I did with my dad's Impact Driver (I called immediately after using his and said "You have GOT to get me one of these, this is awesome!" and he started checking and found one that matches my drill on clearance, and voila, my very own impact driver) my desire to have a Kubota of my very own didn't seem to go to far.  Perhaps it was the slight cost difference between an impact driver and a tractor.  Psh. 

So now that I have the Kubota handled...it's time to move up in the world.  I'm now learning how to drive the 656, which is the one that I killed 8 times moving across the driveway.  It's the one that my dad hooks the auger wagon up to to load beans into the planter.  My job has been to sit on the tractor, and move it slightly forward or back so the auger will hover directly over the appropriate receptacle.  No big thing.  But I'm working my way up.  Yesterday afternoon, I got to move it from behind the planter, off to the side of the field.  In second gear, no less.  And then, at the end of the day yesterday, after doing a magnificent performance moving it forward and backward 1 foot in either direction appropriately, dad let me drive it from the field all the way back to the house.  All by myself.  And then, this morning, I got to drive it to the field, and back.  Still no accidents.  But I'm still learning. 

In fact, in the middle of writing this post, I had to go help dad again.  And I learned what the brakes are, and how to use them appropriately. 

Whodathunkit?

Brakes...useful???  This is me we're talking about.  The one who isn't allowed to learn how to put the lawn mower into high gear.  The one who was told that 4th gear was fast enough, when clearly there is a 5th gear!  It should be used!!!  Especially by me...at some point. 

I digress.  I may joke a bit about the whole tractor thing.  But really, I am absolutely in awe of them.  These beastly machines that can move about with near ballet like precision. 

When I took the tractor to the field this morning, I got to watch my dad plant the field for a little while.  A couple of years ago, my dad and his cousin bought a new planter together.  The first time I saw it in person, I literally was stuck in place, jaw on the floor, in utter amazement of this...thing.  The main reason is...well...it's massive. 

Now that I've actually seen this thing in motion, I'm even more in awe.

The beast looks something like this:

Photo courtesy of Farm Industry News

It's massive.  And to be able to drive it down the road, it has to fold up, sideways.  To say the least, it makes a bit of a statement going down the road.  Even now, the mere thought of dad backing this thing into the shed makes me a little dumbstruck.  Of course, when I said something to dad about it, he was like "meh, it's no big deal really."  That's the dad. 

But back to this morning.  Watching it go through the field, and execute near perfect pivot turns, the likes of which we were never able to really perfect back in my marching band days, is incredible.  And of course, the dad makes it look so easy to do. 

I don't know, maybe part of it is the fact that I'm and English Major (one who just had a hard time doing the math to figure out I've been out of college for 9 years...don't ask) and the engineering part of things that goes into building one of these is simply so foreign, I just can't image it.  But somehow, some incredibly smart person out there built it, and figured out how to make it work.  And that makes me glad that I really am an English Major, because I'm pretty sure I'd never have been able to come up with something like that. 

I'm also fairly certain that it's intimidating enough that I'll never ask dad if I can ever drive the tractor that pulls this thing. 

I'm sure he's glad for that fact. 

But for now, the on the job training continues.

Plan B

It's every hostesses worst nightmare.  It's 5pm, and the pork shoulder that I have been slaving over a hot crock pot all day to make...isn't cooked.  And my guests are supposed to arrive at 5:30.  Their mouths have been watering for pulled pork all day long.

This is exactly the type of scenario Home Ec in the 1950's prepared women for.  Whew.

Except I didn't take Home Ec in the 1950's.  I took Home Ec in the 90's.  After women started wearing shoulder pads.  So all I really learned what to do in class was how to (poorly) sew a dress.  Albeit, those skills came in handy when I sold sewing machines for a couple of years.  But that's little help when I have no decent food to serve the 4, hungry family members that are coming to dinner. 

I begin to panic.  I'm supposed to be the perfect hostess.  I'm all done up in my little black...t-shirt.  I actually brushed my hair.  So I didn't put any make-up on, but I promise, I had a good reason.  I've, err, had some, uh, skin iss...Ok, I just didn't feel like putting any make-up on.

Then I realize I'm not an hysteric.  So I defrost some chicken, and get the grill out.  I throw the green beans in the saute pan, cut up the potatoes.  And we're back in the game.  Except when I shook up the potatoes, you know, to get a good coat of oil all over them, I got twacked (yes, that is the technical term for what happened) in the face with a couple of pieces.  Apparently I did a poor job of sealing the zip loc bag.

But it's ok.  I wash my face (remember, no make up.  Smart cookie, I am) and reseal the bag, and go back to shaking.  Throw the potatoes in the oven, on my newly purchased no-stick foil, and head outside to light the grill.

Once outside, I realize that it's a bazillion degrees outside.  Ok, so it was actually in the 80's.  But I was wearing a black t-shirt (maybe I'm not so smart) and standing over a hot grill.  So it feels like it's a bazillion degrees outside.  Sweat is poring off my face.  Again, I'm glad I didn't waste time applying make-up, because it would certainly be gone by now.  Or even better, making me look scarier than a sad clown on a dreary night. 

Things are going well.  The chicken is cooking beautifully.  The potatoes are well on their way to being crisp, golden deliciousness.  And the green beans have a yum-tastic looking char on them.  No seriously, my beans are amazing.  Trust me.

Then I go outside to flip the chicken.  And then back out again to see how things are going.  And the chicken isn't cooking so beautifully anymore.  I check the grill.  The pint size propane tank on my smaller than my toolbox grill has run out.

Awesome.

I make the quick switch, and we're (I hope) back in the game. 

And the family arrives.  I immediately turn my tongs over to the dad, and give the family members that haven't been to my house in the last 10 years a tour.  Make sure dinner hasn't completely burned.  Pose for a picture or two (events at my house are apparently world renowned events where I just can't keep the paparazzi out.  And by paparazzi, I really mean my cousin, Earl.)  And then dinner is ready. 

Deep breathe. 

Chicken.

Potatoes.

Green Beans.

Cole Slaw.

Whew.  It's all here.  And better yet, it all tastes good.  But even better than that, I get to spend an evening hanging out with the family, who fortunately love me no matter how many errors occurred during the evening.  But no blood was drawn, so I'm still calling the evening a success.

And the pork eventually finished cooking, and smells amazing (the recipe - see below - is definitely a keeper) and now there's less work to do for Sunday dinner!!  Woohoo!!



Seriously...you should really try this recipe.  It's not just a "throw everything in the crock pot and let it cook all day" type of pork, like other recipes I have tried.  But the effort is totally worth it.  Just be careful with the onions, I ended up crying for an hour after cutting them up.

Courtesy of EatingWell.com:

Ingredients

• 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
• 3 large onions, thinly sliced
• 1/3 cup raw cane sugar, such as Demerara or turbinado (see Notes)
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/3 cup cider vinegar
• 1 cup chili sauce, such as Heinz
• 1 1/2-3 teaspoons minced chipotle chile in adobo sauce (see Notes)
• 3 pounds boneless pork shoulder or blade (butt) roast, trimmed

Preparation

1. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until they begin to soften, 3 to 6 minutes. Add sugar and continue to cook, stirring constantly, until the onions are golden brown, 6 to 8 minutes more. Add garlic, oregano, pepper and salt and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add vinegar and bring to a boil. Cook until mostly evaporated, 30 seconds to 1 minute. Remove from the heat and stir in chili sauce and chipotle to taste.
2. Place pork in a 4-quart (or larger) slow cooker and cover with the sauce. Cover and cook until the pork is almost falling apart, about 4 hours on High or 8 hours on Low.
3. Transfer the pork to a cutting board and shred using two forks. Stir back into the sauce.
4. Variation: Turn 3 cups leftover pulled pork into Pulled-Pork Torta. Preheat oven to 375°F. Coat a deep-dish pie pan or other 9-inch round baking dish with cooking spray. Heat 3 cups finely shredded Pulled Pork with Caramelized Onions (including sauce) just until warm. Drain one 14-ounce can no-added-salt diced tomatoes (reserve juice); combine with 1/4 cup diced Spanish-style chorizo (see Note) or pepperoni in a bowl. Mix well. Spread about 1/2 cup of the mixture in the prepared pan to cover the bottom. Top with one 8-inch flour tortilla (preferably whole-wheat). Spoon one-third of the remaining mixture over the tortilla. Top with another tortilla. Repeat twice, topping with a fourth tortilla. Drizzle the reserved tomato juice over the top and cover with foil. Bake for 20 minutes. Remove the foil, sprinkle 3/4 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese on top and continue baking until the cheese is melted and the torta is bubbly, about 20 minutes more. Let cool for 10 minutes. Serve sprinkled with 1/4 cup each finely chopped scallions and chopped fresh cilantro, if desired.

Tips & Notes

• Make Ahead Tip: Prepare through Step 1, cover and refrigerate for up to 2 days. To finish, bring the sauce to a simmer and continue with Steps 2 & 3. The cooked pork can be refrigerated for up to 3 days. | Equipment: 4-quart or larger slow cooker

• Notes: Raw cane sugar (such as Sugar in the Raw) is steam-cleaned, coarse-grained and light brown in color, with a slight molasses flavor. Find it in the natural-foods section of large supermarkets or at natural-foods stores.
• Chipotle chiles in adobo sauce are smoked jalapeños packed in a flavorful sauce. Look for the small cans with Mexican foods at large supermarkets. Once opened, they’ll keep up to 2 weeks in the refrigerator or 6 months in the freezer.
• Note: Spanish-style chorizo is a seasoned, fully cooked smoked pork sausage. Find it near other cured sausages in well-stocked super markets or online at tienda.com.

Nutrition

Per serving (without bun): 358 calories; 18 g fat ( 6 g sat , 9 g mono ); 90 mg cholesterol; 18 g carbohydrates; 9 g added sugars; 25 g protein; 3 g fiber; 664 mg sodium; 510 mg potassium.
Nutrition Bonus: Zinc (31% daily value), Vitamin C (17% dv)
Carbohydrate Servings: 1 1/2
Exchanges: 1 1/2 carbohydrate (other), 3 medium fat meat

Bubble Wrap

Those who know me best and worst (meaning they know pretty much all there is to know about me, and they're still willing to be seen with me in public) have told me for many years that I should clad myself in an armor of bubble wrap.  I tend to agree.  Though I've never actually put this into practice.  Mainly because bubble wrap has the potential to be a little restrictive.  With the added bonus that I would look absolutely ridiculous.  And knowing myself, as I do, the bubble wrap would actually do little in the way of preventing any injury.  This is *me* we're talking about.

You know, the girl who broke her foot by stubbing her toe on her brothers shoes.  While he was wearing them.  The girl who innocently jumped off a piece of (somewhat dangerous...and rusty) play equipment (AT THE BEGINNING OF SUMMER BREAK) when I was 8, and ended up with stitches down to the muscle, ruining my entire summer.  The girl who, without fail, bumps, hits, kicks, stubs, or any other verb you can use, some piece of my body on a nearly daily basis.

So trust me...the bubble wrap ain't gonna help.

On Wednesday, one of my friends mentioned to me that she hadn't seen any recent Facebook postings about recent bodily damage, and was hopeful that this meant with more space, etc, that my feet were surviving my period of adjustment.

Oh, if only that were true.

Unfortunately, this sentiment could not be further from the truth. 

The truth being, if I were to post about all of the injuries incurred since I moved, well, I could easily write a novel.  A very gruesome novel. 

Still, not a day goes by that I haven't injured myself in some way, shape, or form.  In fact, in the 24 hours preceding said statement, I had, in two separate instances, stubbed 2 separate toes (same foot).  Once while helping my dad put together one of my bookshelf.  The other while making my bed.  I'd also scraped and bruised my left leg while fishing what will one day be the headboard in my guest room out of the shed.  And the ultimate injury: I hit my leg on...something, and ended up with a 4 inch bruise on my shin, with a scratch for a little decoration. 

Now, you might have noticed that I said "something" in the previous sentence.  Because said injury happened before I had had coffee.  And you all should know that nothing in the world of Johanna happens before I have coffee.  At least nothing good.  So I've been walking around for a few days, nursing my wound, and still having absolutely no idea what I had done to receive it. 

That is, until this morning. 

Because now, I have a matching bruise and scratch combo on my left shin.

The culprit?

My dishwasher door.

At least today it happened after I had coffee, so I at least remember the incident.

So, here's what I'm thinking.  I'm still not likely to walk around in public, or in private for that matter, wrapped in bubble wrap.  And I need to do some redecorating anyway.  How about I wrap all of my worldly possessions in bubble wrap?  I think it could make some interesting decor.  And if nothing else, it would certainly be a conversation piece. 

I think I'll start with that pesky little dishwasher, and see how that goes.