Thanksgiving in a Bowl

Since I always am looking for new recipes, I look forward to each week when one of my dear childhood friends posts amazing soup recipes on her blog (thanks, Lindsay!). I love making soup on the weekends because it makes for quick and easy lunches during of the week. And it doesn't get much easier than this recipe that my sister made for me a couple weeks ago. She shared it with one of her best friend too, who said it tasted like "Thanksgiving in a Bowl."

This comes from none other than Rachael Ray (yum-o) and is only 5 ingredients (with salt, pepper, and olive oil being freebies) so I didn't even have to make a list for the grocery store.

Butternut Squash Soup

1 peeled, seeded and chopped butternut squash
1 peeled and quartered onion
1 peeled and quartered baking potato
1 quart chicken broth
1/2 to 1 cup whole milk

Preheat oven to 400. In 9x13 baking dish, toss butternut squash, onion and baking potato with 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil; season with salt and pepper.
Bake until tender, about 45 minutes to 1 hour.
Transfer vegetables and any juices to large soup pot, add the broth and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat.
Remove from heat and, using an immersion blender, puree until smooth. Stir in the milk, according to desired thickness, and season with salt and pepper.



I enjoyed this with my favoite sourdough bread from a local bakery, which is also readily available at my local grocery stores.

After about 40 minutes in the oven, everything started to get very soft but I think I should have let it go longer because I discovered some less-than-tender pieces after I put it all in the soup pot. This could easily be made vegetarian with vegetable broth instead of chicken. Also, I do not have an immersion blender (what's an immersion blender, anyway?) so I just carefully blended it in very small batches in my regular blender which worked out well. I added the full amount of milk, but wish I would have started with less and kept it a little bit thicker.

Enjoy!

Now I can dance.

So now that I have my own spacious living room in my big old house, it leads me to one thought.... impromptu dance parties. Where no one will see me or care.


One problem:

This huge picture window in the front. Great window but I have watched many a-neighbor stare into my house with rotating head as they walk by. Sure, I'd be curious (nosy?) too, but that just doesn't work for me.

Dad helped me install some amazing privacy the other weekend.
So I lose the view, but these babies open from either the top or the bottom.

Annd, more importantly, now I can dance. Bring on the music. Or none -- I can just make up the songs.

Kris & Keith

So the real reason that brought us out to the Indy State Fair (besides the twinkies and the butter) was the Kris Allen/Keith Urban. Yes, former American Idol plus hot Aussie county star.

It was a hot sticky August night, but hands down the most fun concert I have ever been to.

Kris Allen... Mari and I accurately predicted his exact wardrobe.

A Pure Indiana sunset

Melissa: "This is how you get me to sing and dance without a drink!"

A little John Mellencamp duet

Fried butter?

I experienced my first ever state fair this weekend in none other than Indiana. All in all, it was a whole new experience. I learned about 4-H and FFA, saw the biggest boar in the world, and watched people eat everything fried (twinkies, butter, oreos, pepsi, macaroni and cheese).

What beatiful (and very hot!) day...


Gotta love that food on a stick.


Really??


Apparently, you can get anything you want fried.


Farm animals galore...


We did go for more than just fair food and people watching... there was also a concert later in the evening. More on that later.

Risen from the ashes

Aptly named, the small local company Phoenix Floor Finishing, did some real magic on my floors. The legend of the phoenix...the bird that rises from the ashes to live again. She does that.

She literally renewed my floors from worthless junk that you would want to cover with rugs (but even that wouldn't cover the horrible trim paint jobs along the entire perimeter of the floor) to something of beauty. These babies look brand new.

The pictures do not do justice; they look way better in person. But here are pictures from the same 3 places as previously posted.

Adios, scratches.


Really, there used to be water stains here.


No more worn wood by foot traffic.


A few weeks ago, while sitting on the floor of my parents' kitchen talking to my mom, I asked when/if I would be comfortable sitting on the floor of my house... something that I consider to be a true sign that it's yours and you trust it.

I will sit on these floors.

Sand and Refinish, please.

Not too long after I made my big decision to buy the house, I lay awake thinking about paint colors and furniture. This, obviously, was a good and productive use of my time. Then I suddenly came to deciding that I had to do something about the wood floors. They were basically trashed (which, of course, I overlooked in the purchase decision-making). And, while I could cover them up with some nice rugs, nice wood floors are just beautiful. And would probably add to the value of the house (maybe), and if I was going to do them ever I might as well do them now so I can enjoy them.

Some before pictures...
Note the giant scratch(es),


the water spots (which I naively assumed were dirt)


and the just worn-with-lots-of-foot-treads floors. With a horrible paint job on the trim.


So I found a company to finish them for me (clearly, this was too much of a DIY task), owned by a woman (which I love, of course), and hired her crew to do them. She did an amazing job -- pictures to follow. And didn't even blink an eye when she got my, "Oh no, Barb. I went over to sneak a peek at my floors and stepped on wet varnish and may have [knowing full well that I most definitely did] left a foot print," voicemail.

She took care of my (3 to 4) footprints.

paint

I have to be honest, until about 2 weeks ago I was a wall-painting-virgin. Growing up, when my parents would paint a room in the house I would "help" but was never really allowed to touch a brush or a roller. Either they knew better than to put paint in the hand of the clumsy adolescent that I was, or they were going with the "I'd rather do it myself so I know it gets done right/how I want it even if that means declining help" attitude (which I seem at times to have adopted as an adult). More likely a combination of the both. Either way, until earlier this month I had done little more than watch my parents paint. Maybe I refilled trays or hammered the lids back on but was never given any sort of responsibility that could cause potential damage or was really very useful.

When I was house hunting, my realtor (aka brother), always finding the possibilities and potential in a house would tell me not to get distracted by the paint on the walls (good or bad) because paint is such a simple thing to change. Not so much, brotha'. I hate painting. Er, I hate the process. Love the outcome. It is amazing how much of a transformation paint can bring to a home. It gives it life, personality, warmth. I think I can handle a few hours of tedious work if I remember how much I'll love the outcome. So far, the living/dining room area is done.

The before. Vast walls of whiteness.

The choices. Someone sure had my number when they decided to market these little paint samples. Indecisiveness rejoice.

Dad, Melissa, and I spent a long Monday night painting (thank you!). Clearly, I did some work and then got bossy pointing out the mistakes (my need for perfection obvsiously not in check at that moment)

The after. Just need to refinish those floors and pull up a couch!