Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Chocolate cake for breakfast March 3, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:50 AM
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“MOM, CAN I HAVE some hot fudge pudding cake for breakfast?” my 17-year-old asks.

“Sure, go ahead,” I reply. “There’s some whipped cream in the fridge too.”

Am I a bad mom for letting my teen consume a chocolate dessert before 8 a.m.?

 

Hot fudge pudding cake slathered with real whipped cream and topped with sprinkles.

When his sisters were that age—they’re 23 and 25 now—I never would have allowed them to eat cake for breakfast. But I’ve become a little much more relaxed in my parenting now that I’m older and tired.

Besides, I didn’t tell my boy this, but I was considering dipping into the chocolate pudding cake for breakfast too. I didn’t.

I wondered, though, as I poured cereal into a bowl, whether the cinnamon and sugar-laden squares I was about to eat were any more healthy than the homemade chocolate dessert?

 

The sugary cereal I ate for breakfast.

Just to clarify here, before you give me your opinion, you should know that my lanky son is over six feet tall, skinny as a toothpick, slim as a rail, etc. He can eat any amount of anything and not gain an ounce. Last night he ate a half a piece of pizza at 10:30. He does not like fruits (except for bananas and raspberries) or vegetables (except for potatoes). I did not raise him to dislike either as I could live on fruits and vegetables, OK, and chocolate.

If you would like to try hot fudge pudding cake for breakfast, or any time, here’s the recipe. It’s one of my favorite desserts, which my mom made when I was growing up, and is incredibly simple to prepare. Enjoy.

Hot Fudge Pudding Cake

1 cup flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

¼ teaspoon salt

¾ cup sugar

2 Tablespoons cocoa

½ cup milk

2 Tablespoons vegetable oil

Mix together the flour, baking powder, salt, sugar and cocoa. Stir in milk and vegetable oil. Spread in a 9-inch square pan.

Sprinkle with 1 cup of brown sugar and ¼ cup of cocoa that have been mixed together.

Pour 1 ¾ cups of hot water over the entire batter and bake at 350 degrees for 40 – 45 minutes. During baking, the cake mixture rises to the top and the chocolate sauce settles to the bottom. Serve warm, with whipped cream if desired.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The Andersen Window Guy earns five stars March 2, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:04 AM
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This is one of two window latches that needed repair.

FOR MORE THAN A WEEK, I’d dreaded the arrival of The Andersen Window Guy.

I had resigned myself to the fact that he would likely gouge/wreck/scrape/ruin the wood on two newly-installed Andersen windows while repairing two broken latches. That would be wood that I had laboriously stained and varnished. I had no desire to stain and varnish more window trim.

So…, when The Andersen Window Guy pulled up with his pick-up truck and trailer Tuesday morning, I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the inevitable.

I should preface this by saying he scored brownie points by arriving several minutes before our 8 a.m. appointment, by removing his shoes upon entering my kitchen and by shaking my hand in a professional greeting. We were off to a good start. I always appreciate respectful workmen who show up when they say they’ll be here.

Then I led him to the windows, hesitated and asked, “Can you fix the windows without wrecking the wood?”

“I’m going to try,” he said.

That gave me hope. But just to emphasize my point, I told him that I had worked long and hard staining and varnishing. Then I walked away.

I feared the wood trim that I stained and then varnished three times would be damaged during the repair.

I, oh, so wanted to see how his work was progressing. But I let him be and settled into my writing projects for the day.

In less time than I could write a blog post, he had finished his work—without damaging or removing a single piece of wood trim.

I told him exactly how happy he had made me. Very, very happy.

He then offered to install the window hardware on all five windows. I accepted since that would be one less task for my husband.

And when I asked for advice on how to remove silicone from my new picture window (inadvertently smudged on by a carpenter), he offered to stop by the next time he’s in town and complete that task too.

Honestly, I could not have asked for a more courteous, helpful, respectful window rep.

He even took the new, but slashed, Andersen window screen leaning against my kitchen counter. My husband discovered the torn screen on Sunday when he was putting the new screens in place.

Unfortunately, I failed to ask The Andersen Window Guy about quality issues with the company’s window treatments. OK, you caught me. As far as I know, Andersen does not manufacture shades, blinds or drapes. But for the past several weeks, while we’ve shopped for window treatments, we’ve placed Andersen window cardboard over our windows. On several occasions, however, we’ve experienced product failure—cardboard thudding onto the living room floor in the middle of the night and cardboard nearly hitting my head as I slept.

A temporary Andersen cardboard treatment on our bedroom window.

I guess I can’t expect The Andersen Window Guy to fix everything. But he did a superb job of fixing what he could fix, and the newly-installed window latch covers now hold our bedroom window treatments in place.

I give him ***** for great customer service.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Dreaming of sunrises, tangerines and carrot stix February 26, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 11:20 PM
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I WAS LOOKING at paint swatches today while my husband was searching for a toilet bowl gasket at the hardware store.

It seemed like the right thing to do. Crap or color. (I can’t believe I wrote that.) Give me the color.

For some reason, I’ve had bright orange on the brain. I’ve been contemplating adding a jolt of color to my bathroom. Orange towels would do the trick.

I've been fixated with orange lately, like the orange in this poppy I photographed in my neighbor's yard, long, long ago, during the summertime, long, long ago in Minnesota.

But there’s one teeny, tiny problem. My husband, the one who was looking in the, well you know, section of the hardware store while I was ogling the paint, says the towels are just fine.

I suppose they are. They are not threadbare. But I am ready for a change. I need an infusion of brilliant color in my bathroom. Yellow. Orange. Anything but the sage and green that have hung on the towel racks for too many years.

However, because we’ve spent (and are still spending) a lot of money on a major home improvement project, I’ll appease him and hold off on the towel purchase.

But a girl can dream in the meantime. While he searched for that toilet bowl gasket, I admired the sunrise, tangerines and the carrot stix. And then I asked the paint expert at the hardware store if anyone ever buys orange paint.

Orange. Orange. Orange. I can't stop thinking about orange.

“For a kid’s room” she said.

Then I explained my recent fixation with orange, my desire to brighten my bathroom.

She figured this might have something to do with the long, cold and snowy Minnesota winter.

I didn’t disagree.

TODAY MY HUSBAND and I repainted our bathroom in “Popular Gray” by Sherwin Williams. I figure my orange towels will really pop against that gray.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A snow day in Faribault February 21, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:07 AM
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“YOU DIDN’T BELIEVE ME. Give me a high five.”

That’s how the 17-year-old reacted at 7:07 this morning after learning that Faribault schools are closed today because of a snow day.

I wish I had been the one to deliver the good news to him, to a boy who typically lingers in bed until he risks being late for school, which he was one day recently, on a Thursday “late start” day of all days.

But this morning my son heard the “no school” news from his dad, who is currently blowing the eight or nine or 10 inches of snow from ours and our neighbor’s driveways.

Upstairs, the teen is likely back in dreamland and I’ve had a pleasant start to my morning with no snarling, no crabbing, no frowns or grumpy face.

Ah, yes, I love snow days.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Already missing my fifth eye February 19, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:33 AM
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My fifth eye, my Canon EOS 20D.

I’M NOT A CONTORTIONIST. But when I shoot photos, I manage to twist my fingers and body into abnormal bends. Sort of like Gumby.

But that’s not the point of this post.

My purpose is to tell you that I will be without my camera for a week. That makes me nervous, uneasy, tense, stressed and uncomfortable.

I’m really attached to my camera. I mean really. My Canon EOS 20D is like my fifth eye. I wear prescription lenses, so 2 natural eyes + 2 eyeglass lenses + 1 camera lens = 5 eyes.

I cannot imagine an entire week without shooting a single image. My camera is always there, sitting on the floor of my office, ready to grab for a quick interior shot or when I’m heading out the door.

But I’ve known for quite some time that I needed to get it checked. Spots have shown up in my photos, always in the same location. Sometimes they are noticeable, sometimes not, depending on the subject I am shooting.

After googling the topic and consulting with friends who are professional photographers, I verified that the likely problem is dust on the sensor. I hoped, but didn’t expect, that I could get my camera cleaned in Faribault. I can’t. And I’m too scared to buy a kit and try cleaning the sensor myself. Why risk damaging an expensive camera to save a few bucks?

So today I’ll drop my Canon off at National Camera Exchange in Burnsville and they’ll send it over to their Golden Valley store for cleaning. In a week, I can pick it up.

That’s 604,800 seconds without my fifth eye.

I hope I can see OK.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Snow peas at the farmers’ market February 18, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:45 AM
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Faribault Farmers' Market sign, photographed during the summer.

MY HUSBAND AND I HAD some fun recently at our teen’s expense.

We were talking about food samples at the grocery store and I was raving about the bread. My spouse was telling me about the fish from Vietnam and how a shopper declared he wouldn’t eat anything from that country because of the parasites. I’m guessing he was a Vietnam War veteran.

Our son caught snippets of our conversation, remaining checked out for most of the exchange as is typical of him. Apparently any words said by the parents are not worthy of his full attention.

That is why, whenever he jumps into the middle of a discussion, his statements usually make no sense.

“What, you got bread at the farmer’s market?” he interjected into our grocery store sample conversation.

Now if we were teenagers, my husband and I would have rolled our eyes. But we didn’t.

One of us responded with something like, “You think there’s a farmers’ market in winter?” Well, maybe in some communities, but not in Central Park in Faribault, Minnesota, in February, even if the temp soared to nearly 50 degrees recently.

Besides, we added, it’s not like the local vendors would have any fresh fruits and vegetables to sell.

Then my husband, who possesses a sense of humor that balances my seriousness, thought for a moment.

Of course, he said, they could sell iceberg lettuce and snow peas, and, I added, freeze pops and snow cones.

And, oh, yeah, the Dairy Queen folks could peddle Blizzards.

By that time, the teen had already begun checking out. I could see it in his rolling eyes, in the dismissive shake of his head, in the vibe that indicated he thought his parents were nuts.

We just laughed.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

February heat wave in Minnesota February 17, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:50 PM
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SEVENTY-FOUR DEGREES and sunny in St. Louis.

Eighty degrees and sunny in Florida.

Foggy and 40-something-degrees in Minnesota.

Thursday held the promise of another warm day in Minnesota. And by warm, I mean anything above freezing. I expected temperatures to reach near the predicted 60 degrees here in southeastern Minnesota. But I had to settle for the 40s, primarily, I think, because the fog failed to lift until late in the day.

But after this long, snowy winter, I’ll take it…because tomorrow winter returns with colder temps and snow on the way for the weekend.

For now, though, for today, patches of grass edge snow banks that are shrinking in February warmth.

Winter, spring and fall. Four seasons captured in this image I took along the edge of my driveway Thursday.

Puddles form in the low dips of the sidewalk. Mud sucks at my boots as I pick up building debris in my yard. Neighborhood children ride their bikes and zoom on their scooters.

Neighbor kids traded winter coats for sweatshirts and rode their scooters and bikes after school Thursday.

In reality, February is still winter and not the spring I await.

I need only click on my computer and open my e-mail for a reality check.

“As for spring, feel free to head our way. It’s 74 degrees and sunny here today, guaranteed to melt any snow you still have hanging around in Minnesota!” writes my editor from St. Louis, Missouri. I send the e-mail to “trash.”

Click.

I can’t escape the taunting, the flaunting. My oldest daughter sends me a text message from Florida, where she arrived last night. “…soon we will go to the beach…it is around 80.”

Click.

A vintage lawn chair on my backyard patio remains immersed in a sea of snow. The snow level has decreased considerably, though. Only the tip of this chair has been visible most of the winter.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Mice in the fish bowl

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:56 AM
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PEOPLE WERE STARTING to talk. So it was time, high time, we did something about the problem.

It wasn’t like we didn’t want to solve the problem, but we couldn’t, not until this past Saturday when the Rice County Landfill was open on a weekend we were free.

We needed to clear the debris—wood siding, old windows, an old door and more—from the side of our driveway. It had been there for weeks, underneath layers of snow. Because we live in a fish bowl, aka a busy street, people know exactly what we are doing and they feel free to comment.

 

Just a portion of the demolition debris piled under the snow along our driveway.

“When are you going to get rid of that junk along your driveway?” they would remark.

We would explain that we couldn’t until the second Saturday of the month, when the landfill was open for several hours. My husband couldn’t take time off work during the week to do this job.

So this past Saturday was the day, the day we would finally tidy up our property.

Friday evening my husband and son bundled up and loaded half of the demolition debris from our home improvement project into the back of a company pick-up truck. I would have helped, except for one minor situation. Only days earlier, while shoveling snow from the driveway, I heard the tell-tale scritch-scratch of feet, mice feet, in the debris pile.

That was my conclusion, based only on the memory of mice scritch-scratching in the walls of my childhood home. At that very moment I knew I could not, would not, disturb their temporary shelter. Deeply engrained in my memory is my dad’s story of a mouse skittering up his pant leg.

 

I heard scratching from within this debris pile. My family told me I likely just heard a candy bar wrapper blowing in the wind. I told them I likely knew what I was hearing and it wasn't a candy bar wrapper blowing in the wind.

So I stayed clear, tucked safely inside the house, as the guys hoisted old windows and wood into the back of the pick-up Friday evening. They claimed they did not see a mouse, not a single one, but I was uncertain whether to believe them. Sometimes, they have learned, it is better not to tell me the truth about topics like…mice.

Saturday morning, while the teenage son slept, his dad and I rose early to haul the first truck full of debris to the landfill.

When we arrived back home and I realized I would now have to dip into that snow-covered demo stash and possibly stir up a mouse, I stepped back. Literally. My brave, brave spouse forged ahead. When no mice, not even one, appeared, I pitched in, lifting and tossing.

So to those of you who’ve wondered when we were going to clean up that junk along the end of the driveway, look, it’s gone. Gone. All gone.

And so too are the mice. I wonder where they’ve gone. Could they possibly have…? Nah. Better to not even think that, let alone write it.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The flirtatious Bread Man February 14, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:48 AM
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THE BREAD MAN was giving out bread samples on Saturday at a local grocery store.

I call him the “Bread Man” because I don’t know his name. He has a few decades on me and he’s the nicest, smiley-est demo person I’ve ever met. I’m pretty certain he also sells a lot of bread. He’s a convincing salesman.

I once worked as a grocery store demo person. I can appreciate the Bread Man’s skills.

After sampling a few mini-slices of artisan style bread, I picked up a bag of the Sicilian Baking Stone Bread which the Bread Man recommended. With the 50-cent off coupon he offered, the loaf cost only $1.49. I couldn’t pass on the deal as it would be the perfect accompaniment to a Sunday noon birthday meal for my 17-year-old son and 25-year-old daughter.

The Bread Man plied me with his offers and I quickly snatched up a loaf of Sicilian bread.

I also could not resist the flirtatious salesman. “If you like the bread, come back and give me a hug,” the Bread Man told me and another woman. “If you don’t like the bread, come back and I’ll give you a hug.” We all laughed.

And then he called me “young lady.” I haven’t been called “young lady” in, well, uh, a long time. That Bread Man…

Some time ago, while dining at a now-closed Faribault restaurant, my daughter and I were presented with bread and a saucer containing a mix like this. I wondered why the restaurant was serving chocolate with bread. Really. I'm not making this up. My daughter quickly explained that this was balsamic vinegar mixed with olive oil for bread dipping. Balsamic what? I am not used to such fancy food. When I bought the Bread Man's Sicilian bread, I also made my own dipping sauce with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. My only question: Are you supposed to swirl the two together? I am not a foodie. I need your expertise.

 

Olive oil mixed with balsamic vinegar created the perfect, healthy dip for the Bread Man's Sicilian bread.

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Paint problems February 6, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:15 PM
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THIS WEEKEND my husband and I have been marathon painting. We painted our bedroom Friday evening.

And then Saturday we tackled the living room. Get it? Tackle. Football. Super Bowl.

I need to throw some humor into this whole situation. You’ll understand as you continue reading.

Saturday wake-up arrived dark and early at 5:45 a.m. as the 16-year-old had to be up to catch a bus at 6:30 a.m. for a science competition in Rochester. Any thoughts of sleeping in were simply dreams. My husband and I were sleeping on our mattress in the living room, because of the strong paint odor in our bedroom. The living room is directly in the pathway to the kitchen and to the back door. So when our son was up and around, we were too. Besides, he needed a ride to school, although we could have made him walk. But sometimes, according to him, we are actually “nice” parents.

I digress.

Given our early rising, we could have, should have, finished painting early in the day. But we were waiting for our friend, Duane, to arrive. He is a professional painter and had offered to offer some tips on painting the ceiling. The last time my husband painted the ceiling, it looked like a spotted cow and we hired another friend to repaint it. So we were willing to wait for Duane. Between the two of them, Duane and Randy finished the ceiling in an hour. I’m happy to report we do not have Holsteins on our ceiling.

By that time, we were ready for a break from paint fumes and we still needed to pick up the paint for our living room walls. So we drove the several miles across town to get two gallons of Cashmere paint, in a golden “Whole Wheat” color, from Sherwin Williams. With stir sticks, more rollers and additional paint trays in hand and $90 less in our bank account, we were ready to paint.

Or so we thought.

Sherwin Williams' premium Cashmere paint, a satiny paint that we've used before and really like.

After a quick lunch, Randy opened the gallon of paint, only to find specks of color floating on the top. Now, I would have just stirred and stirred the heck out of that paint. But not my smart husband. He slapped on the paint lid, pounded the cover, grabbed the two gallons of paint and drove back, across town, to Sherwin Williams.

I told him I was going to take a nap, but instead called my mom.

When, even after a lengthy conversation with my mom, my husband still wasn’t home, I phoned him. He was at the paint store. Seems all the shaking in the world wouldn’t shake the gold coloring into the white Cashmere paint. Not into the first can of paint. Not into the second can of paint. Not even into a third can of paint, with a different batch number, pulled from the shelf.

Calls to the store manager at home and to the Owatonna Sherwin Williams store got the same answer: “We’ve never had this happen before.” No one could figure it out.

Then the manager suggested trying a different paint, SuperPaint. That worked; the colors mixed into the paint.

Sherwin Williams' SuperPaint, the paint that ended up on our living room walls. I like the look of the paint, but not the chalky-feel finish.

By the time Randy returned home, we knew we would be pushing it to finish painting the living room by dusk.

But we did and I was happy…, until I ran my hand along a newly-painted wall. The dried SuperPaint felt like chalk, a sharp contrast to the glide-smooth finish of the premium Cashmere paint. By then, though, it was too late to do anything. We had already picked up a second gallon of paint for the second coat.

What did I learn from this? Whenever you undertake a home improvement project, something always pops up. I just didn’t think we would have problems with paint, for goodness sakes.

Now, did I tell you about the evening our brand new front door popped open when we were watching TV?

#

(I AM WAITING to see if Sherwin Williams will give us store credit, or a partial refund, for the paint hassles. If they figure out the problem, I would really like to know why the colors wouldn’t mix into the Cashmere paint.)

© Copyright 2011 Audrey Kletscher Helbling