A couple of weeks ago, during a bit of an online shopping binge, I bought myself a weather station. The thinking was pretty innocent. We had a thermometer outside, it broke, I missed it and I wanted a new one.
After about 5 minutes on Amazon, I asked myself, "why have a rough idea of the weather outside when I can have an exact idea down to the tenth of a degree?" Alaska will do that to you. A half a degree above freezing is a very big deal at the end of a long winter. So, I went from ordering a simple outside thermometer to ordering a complex, digital weather station.
The little beauty was installed and working less than 10 minutes after the nice UPS guy dropped it off. I felt like I'd been delivered my very own leg lamp!
I admit, I have been checking it embarrassingly often. It's even set to Celsius. Now I know the temperature and better yet, I understand the temperature. Yippee!
Oh how I love my new gadget. Hunter complained that Celsius readings don't carry much meaning to him but in all fairness, Fahrenheit readings don't carry much meaning for me. In hindsight, I should have seen this coming. What I should have done was order a BIGGER weather station that shows both readings.
My solution was to play a bit of marriage roulette by telling him that he was more than welcome to change the weather station over to Fahrenheit. I know full well he's got fishing on his mind and my weather station takes a back seat to boat motors, Trilene spools and winter kings. I'm betting my weather station stays put in Celcius.
In the meantime, I'm going to check the weather. It's above zero. I don't get tired of seeing that.
Better with Bacon
On our way to Cabo san Lucas, Hunter and I dropped Toddler off with my mom and my brother in Seattle. They took her north to Canada while we went south to Mexico.
My brother had never had moose before and after five years of listening to me yammer on about it, he asked if I would pack a few roasts in Toddler's suitcase for him to try.
Now, I come from a family of great cooks. Cooking in my family is not a team sport, it's more of an individual medley. Every time my little brother moves into a new house, he goes through a little ritual of showing me how close I can get to the kitchen while he cooks. I find this hilarious. It's pretty easy to get a good-natured rise out of the guy by suggesting he add a dash of this or a little of that to the meal he's cooking. He usually shuts me up with wine. Though we love spending time together as the other cooks, we've actually never cooked a meal together. That's just fine with me - I love the time together, no matter how it's spent and frankly, it's fun to watch him cook.
I did pack my brother a few moose roasts and said a silent prayer to the god of baggage handlers for Toddler's suitcase to arrive on time. I tried to impart to my brother as much moose cooking lore as I could while standing in line for lattes at the airport. I realized half way into my lecture that he already had plans and it was probably best to just sip my coffee and wait to see what he comes up with.
This weekend, I finally got my answer. It came in the form of a 10mb e-mail. My brother had gone out and bought himself a rotisserie for sole purpose of cooking a moose roast. He carefully spiced the roast, wrapped it in smokey bacon, tied it with cooking string and slow roasted it for an hour. From the plethora of photos he sent me, the guy looks like he created a masterpiece. Honestly, that roast looked amazing. I can't wait to try it out. I just need to find my barbecue.
That e-mail left me with two projects for tomorrow. First is to take a long pole, a shovel and a pair of snowshoes out to the back yard to find and dig out the barbecue. Second, is to order myself a rotisserie and a pound of bacon - clearly that's the way to fly.