The Rise and Fall of The Yeast Not-So-Rolls

So...(y'all know this is gonna be a good story already huh??) First, let me say I am not a bread maker....and today solidified this.  My sister-in-law made  home made yeast rolls when I was in Kentucky, and, they would put any restaurant to shame, were light and fluffy and bigger than my fists.  Oh those yummy lumps of baked dough were heavenly, and I have dreamed of making them since.  She sent me the recipe, and encouragingly told me they were easy.  Bless her her confidence in me. Haha.

Well, I have the recipe in front of me. Now, I should note here that I have never, EVER used yeast of any kind in my baking over the years.  I empty that little envelope in the bowl and add the warm water. Holy mudder of all things stinky. It was the most rancid smell since I cracked a rotten egg. Oh well....on we go.  So, I carefully follow the directions....adding everything as written. Oh, I guess I should insert here, that stand mixers have a "bread beater" blade for a reason. Mine didn't, so, as any true southern woman would, I figured, "Yeah, regular beaters will work."  No, no they don't.  The mixer is going smoothly....until I came to the "add two cups of flour....a little at a time".....I am cautiously adding it to the bowl, beaters still turning, then all of a sudden ...WHOOMMPPHHHHH.  They dough had wrapped itself ALL around the beater! I scraped it off....and continued to add the flour...slowly. All of a sudden it just PLOPPED into the bowl and everything within two feel of the bowl was covered in a fine white powder.  At this point I am fairly certain I should have been shooting a video on "How Not To Make Yeast Rolls".

I finally got everything mixed together....and they smelled just like yeast rolls should.  I plopped that little gooey lump into the greased bowl and covered it and waited the TWO long hours for it to rise.  After those long two hours, I peeked under the covering...and what do my wondering eyes see?? Just a lump of gooey dough, that did not look all that risen to me.  Maybe there was some magic words I forgot to say?? Maybe I was suppose to say it with more authority?? RISE I SAY!!  Being the hardhead that I am, I continued with the directions, thinking maybe it did rise and I just forgot what the original looked like, since I was so excited (and naive).   So, I roll them out into little 1 inch balls and place two in each muffin cup. Almost two muffin tins full of anticipation. Now, to let them RISE 45 more minutes.  Again....RISE I SAY.

Are you drooling with anticipation of those little love lumps of hot, steamy dough?? Yeah. Me too.  They did NOT look any bigger than when I meticulously rolled them out. I baked them anyway.  15 minutes later, and they house smelling SO good...they were done.  D.O.N.E.  I had 21 yeast dough knots.  They were not light and fluffy. They were not my little love lumps of dough I had been dreaming about all day!!!  All is not lost.....I broke one open, drizzled some molasses on it and ate it anyway.......After all....tomorrow is another day, and I WILL try again!!!!!

Barefoot, Free Spirited Hippie.....

     When my daddy was about to retire in 1971, we were stationed in Barstow, California. Smack dab in the Mojave Desert.  Not much back then that a 13 year old could get into, trouble wise.  I had a love of anything '68-'71 music. I thought jeans were the Heaven of clothing.  My mother on the other had despised blue jeans of any type.  She was born and raised during the depression, and blue jeans were a sad reminder of how poor they were.  It did not matter to me. I wanted a pair.....and she finally gave in. They were green....with a blue that outlined some very big flowers.  They were mine....and I wore them with pride. My hair long and parted down the middle. Peasant shirts with the puffy sleeves...I felt so free.  "If I Had A Hammer", by Peter, Paul and Mary would be sung every day or blared on my little transistor radio.

      Somewhere along this joyous road I was on, my mother began to see a pattern. She was worried her southern born, only daughter, was becoming a hippie!!  She talked to my daddy, told him he could scratch that plan of retiring in California. She wanted to go back east....back to a simple life and all that comes with small town living.  I was sure at this point my parents hated me. I loved California. I loved the desert mostly......but, his orders came and we moved. 1972.....she thought my hippie wandering spirit would be neatly tucked away in front porch swings, sweet tea and magnolia breezes.  Remember I mentioned that free spirit thing? 

     It was at this point I realized I'd have to do some planning on this.  I was not going to be this dainty, lace wearing, POLYESTER pant teenager.  I found a way to talk her into the blue jeans.....wide leg blue jeans. My hair grew longer.....I wore no makeup....and I loved, LOVED my hoop earrings......

     About this time, I found out WHY my daddy had brought us back in time...My mama, bless her heart.....was so afraid her only daughter was going to become a hippie.....and live in a COMMUNE.  Do you know how many times she told me this???  I don't know where this free spirit I have came from, but, I am glad I have it. I may be an old hippie in my heart.....but, a commune has never come into my thoughts : then OR now!!! What mama didn't realize is, you can be a hippie...or a free spirit where ever you live. I still love my jeans, tee shirts and barefeet....flowing clothes and thoughts.  Free spirit....and I am passing it on to my kids.

Sticks, snakes and my imagination....

     Since finding the copperhead in my yard a few weeks ago, my grass mowing adventures have been on hold. Yes, the grass is growing, but, not in such an aggressive manner. Thank you autumn for slowing making your appearance.  I have noticed when I am walking Tug, that I keep my eyes on the ground....not looking too far ahead for fear of stepping on a snake.  It is funny when you are so scared of something, how everything LOOKS like it. Every stick, every root and thing that remotely looks like a snake, becomes the object of fear. I walk so gingerly that poor Tug occasionally looks back at me with the "SERIOUSLY can you walk faster" look.  

     Yesterday, while walking him out under the huge oak tree, I saw something move. I froze. Yep, again, dead in my tracks.  He didn't see it, but I DID. Slowly, we inched towards it. It moved again.....luckily, it was small.  I got a closer look. It was a caterpillar. A HUGE, black with yellow spots caterpillar. With these little horn like things. I found a small stick and picked him up....Tug still oblivious.....and I flung it to the trunk of the tree. If he had to crawl, please do so UP the tree!! 

     Just so you know, I am NOT a bug person. I do love dragonflies. As long as they know their place....which is NOT in my face or landing in my head. But, there are no adorable lady bugs, no sweet fluttery butterflies, and don't get me started on mosquitoes or flies. That is a whole different blog! 

Welcome to My Blog

When I woke up this morning...I had one thing on my mind. To start this blog and make it fun! Why did I choose Chaos in Flipflops? I wear flipflops until frostbite is a danger. I wear flipflops at least ten months out of twelve!  Chaos is who I am: it is my superpower, my life, my uniqueness, (is that even a word??). So, welcome to my world!!

Here I will rant and brag about my life, my dog, my state, my government, a good margarita and a bad attitude in people.  If I offend someone, all they have to do is not come back! I welcome any feedback, but, if you want to get mean....be prepared to have it served back....extremely warm. Well,I am off to enjoy my second cup of liquid energy, with 2 packs of Splenda and a little milk.