By Heat dome over Pendleton this week. Hundred-and-five inland. Pre-deployment workups have been ramping up. Ryan was gone Wednesday through Friday for a field exercise.
Caleb, 7, wants to be a firefighter still. Has not deviated. Hazel, 4, chaos incarnate. Put a peanut butter sandwich in the DVD player Wednesday. Showed zero remorse.
Corn on the cob in butter. The standard.
Donna would say: dinner at 1800, no exceptions. We did 1800.
Ryan went to his counselor Wednesday. He always comes home calmer. I am calm too, just from him being calm. The man Torres was killed with — Ryan calls his wife twice a year on Torres's birthday and the anniversary. The military widows are their own community.
Base housing is base housing. Beige walls, beige carpet, beige expectations. The dryer venting is in a stupid place. The kitchen has no dishwasher. We make it work.
The kitchen counter has a chip in it from someone before us. Some military housing thing. I have stopped asking what. The chip is fine. The whole kitchen is provisional. We are renting from Uncle Sam.
I made a casserole for a neighbor whose husband is deployed. I dropped it off. She cried. I told her, eat the casserole, baby. The food is the saying. The casserole was a mostly-frozen tater-tot situation that took fifteen minutes of effort and six months of practice to perfect.
Dad called. He has been gardening. He is sending zucchini updates again. The PTSD is managed. He talks more than he used to. He is becoming his own version of healed, which I did not think was possible at fourteen.
Caleb watched the firefighters at a school visit Wednesday and came home buzzing. He is going to be one. I have known this since he was four. Some kids tell you who they are early.
Donna sent a recipe card in the mail this week. She has been doing this for years. The recipes go in the binder. The binder is full. The newest one is for a green bean casserole that uses fresh green beans and fried shallots and which I will absolutely make for the next holiday.
Ryan's friends came over Friday for a beer. I made wings and chips. They demolished both. Standard Marine appetite — they eat like they are still on rations. The kitchen looked like a battlefield by the end. They cleaned up. Marines clean up. Donna would have been impressed.
I went to the commissary Saturday morning. Got the grocery haul under sixty bucks for the week, which is a small victory. The cashier knows me. We talked about her grandkids while she scanned the chicken thighs and the family-size box of pasta. Small-town energy on a Marine base in California.
I went for a walk Sunday morning before the kids got up. Half an hour. The fog was burning off. I needed it. Some weeks I get the walk in. Some weeks I don't. The week tells me which.
The kids' soccer game was Saturday morning. The other parents brought oranges and Capri Suns. I brought a thermos of coffee for myself and a folding chair I bought at Target three years ago that has been to four duty stations now. The chair is a more loyal companion than some of my friends.
Reading another military memoir at night. They make Ryan tense. They steady me. We negotiate. He doesn't ask what I'm reading. I don't tell him. The arrangement works.
The Friday before-school morning was chaos. Three kids, two backpacks, one missing shoe. We all made it to the bus. I drank cold coffee at nine AM because that's when I sat down. Standard.
Corn on the cob in butter handled dinner — simple, no argument from the kids, done by 1800. But with a heat dome sitting on top of us all week and Ryan back home Friday night, I wanted something that felt like a reward without being a project. Strawberry ice cream is that thing. The kids lose their minds over it, it keeps in the freezer for days, and making it scratches the same itch as the binder recipes — something you put your hands into, something that came out right. After the week the week was, right felt like enough.
Best Strawberry Ice Cream
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 5 hr (includes freezing) | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 2 pounds fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar, divided
- 2 cups heavy cream
- 1 cup whole milk
- 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- Pinch of salt
Instructions
- Macerate the strawberries. Combine sliced strawberries with 1/4 cup of the sugar and the lemon juice in a bowl. Stir to coat, then let sit at room temperature for 30 minutes until the berries release their juices.
- Blend the base. Transfer the macerated strawberries and all their juices to a blender or food processor. Pulse 4—5 times — you want mostly smooth with a few small chunks remaining for texture. Do not over-blend.
- Combine the cream mixture. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the heavy cream, whole milk, remaining 1/2 cup sugar, vanilla extract, and salt until the sugar is fully dissolved, about 2 minutes.
- Mix and chill. Stir the strawberry puree into the cream mixture until fully combined. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour, or until very cold.
- Churn. Pour the chilled mixture into your ice cream maker and churn according to manufacturer’s instructions, typically 20—25 minutes, until it reaches a soft-serve consistency.
- Freeze until firm. Transfer to a loaf pan or freezer-safe container. Press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the surface to prevent ice crystals. Freeze for at least 3—4 hours, or until scoopable.
- Serve. Let the ice cream sit at room temperature for 5 minutes before scooping. Serve plain or with fresh sliced strawberries on top.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 275 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 27g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 42mg