Toilet Walking and Shower Sleeping: Fly on the Wall

  

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh! 

Me (talking to myself, standing in the kitchen, looking in the fridge trying to figure out what to make for dinner tomorrow): Tomorrow is Friday.

Hubs (walking by): Tomorrow is Saturday.

Me: These days are so confused.

Hubs: I don't think that's the days, I think that's you . . .

Yeah, he's not wrong . . .

After dinner, Hubs and I were going to watch the Sox in the den. Hubs goes up to change his clothes, and I put the game on.

Me: Oh, you're a dirty, dirty boy.

Hubs (just walking into the room): Am I interrupting something?
Me: No, just talking a little dirt.

Hubs: I don't know whether to ask . . . or leave . . .

So, what actually happened is that a player had just slid into second base. And he was filthy. From head to toe, even jumping around pulling on his belt trying to release the dirt from down his pants, which really bothers the mom (and family clothes washer) in me.

We had picked out a new car and Hubs was going to pick it up. I was in the middle of baking when the car was ready, so he was going himself. He had really enjoyed his BMW SUV, but it was more trouble than it was worth at this point, so it was time to let it go.

When he walked out the garage door, I decided to rush out the front door and just watch the car leave for the last time. I waited and I waited, but he didn't come out. I peeked into the garage, and the car was there, so I hadn't missed him. 

Finally he started the car and pulled out of the garage. He had his phone to his ear so I figured that must be what took so long, he'd gotten a call. But when he pulled out of the garage and saw me, he had a strange look on his face. He opened his window, pointed to his phone and said he had been calling me.

So, yes, he was in the garage calling me . . . while I was in the driveway waiting for him.

Watching baseball again (yeah, we do that quite a lot). This particular pitcher didn't make use of most of the strike zone, almost all of his pitches were low.

Hubs and I were frustrated as one of the Sox batters swung at the first ball thrown, low, it was a strike. Second pitch he swung at was so low it was more like he was golfing than playing baseball.

Hubs: That was ridiculous, why swing at a pitch so low?
Me: Both of this pitcher's balls are low.

Of course, we both broke out laughing.

Hubs: Want to try that one again?

Me: Nope.

I was in the kitchen trying out my new recipe idea, a Strawberry S'Mores Galette, and Hubs went out front to do some weeding and trimming.

When I put the galette in the oven, I went out to talk to him. He wasn't in the front yard, but the rake and some clippings were there. He wasn't in the side yard, but the wheelbarrow was there. No sign of him on the other side of the house. Thinking he'd gone out back into the woods to drop off some limbs, I checked, but he wasn't there either. 

I looked all around the house again, but no luck. It was like poof, he'd just disappeared in the middle of working. Baffled, I went into the house. There by the garage door was his cell, so I couldn't call him.

I started to get worried, then I realized that, what the hell, if he's hiding, he'll eventually get hungry. And if aliens kidnapped him, they can feed him, and I've got the galette to myself.

So, win/win, right?

Strawberry S'Mores Galette

I'm not saying my writing is perfect, far from it. I've even relaxed a little personally, like starting sentences with "but," or "and." I don't like the term "Grammer Nazi," and although I find some of those mistakes tough to read without correcting in my head, Nazi isn't a term to be used lightly.

Even though I don't follow many of the sentence structure rules I grew up with, I pride myself on knowing when to use there, their, and they're, and cannot stand when an apostrophe is used when the word is plural, not possessive. {{sigh}}.

But the use of commas can be important too. Not just to me, but to the context of what you're saying. Sometimes, though, it's funny.

I was reading an ad for a beachfront home for rent, perfect for an extended family or multiple families to share. It was described as having 5 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, an outside shower sleeps 10, bedding included.

So . . . an outside shower that sleeps 10? That sounds awful . . . friendly.

Or is it 5 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, an outside shower (insert comma here), sleeps 10, bedding included. 'Cause there's a pretty big difference between those two sentences. Just sayin'.

 

Anyone else ever have a walking toilet?

Hubs was at work when I noticed, when walking into the bathroom, that the water was continuously trickling into the toilet. It wasn't running and flushing constantly, just kind of trickling. So I texted Hubs:

Me: I think there's something wrong with the toilet by the laundry room.

Hubs: Is it running? Can you turn off the water source until I get home?
Me: I don't think I need to do that.

Hubs: Well, I don't want it running all day.

Me: I wouldn't say it's running per se, more like just going for a brisk walk.

There was a kind of a long pause, then finally he answered.

Hubs: OK. I guess I'll take a look at the walking toilet when I get home.

Me: Sounds like a plan.

A semi retired husband requires some adjustment. But it's also brought about hindsight perspective. 

For years, I'd do the grocery shopping with babies and toddlers and it was not easy. One of the biggest challenges was the fact that they wanted . . . pretty much . . . everything. And, you know that once you got half of that stuff home they wouldn't touch it. Somehow, what's tempting in the store isn't necessarily so at home.

Shopping trips required both negotiating skills, and a whole lot of patience.

Then for years I could mosey down the aisles in solitary bliss.

Fast forward to now. Off to Aldi the other day and Hubs thought he'd come along. Yes, he drove to the store, got the cart, even followed along behind me so I could just throw what I wanted into the cart. Hmm, I can live with this.

And then, suddenly, he (and my cart) are wandering off on their own. And I'm dusting off those negotiating skills and patience, 'cause it seems (some) husbands want . . .  pretty much . . .  everything too. Ugh.

So we made a new family rule. OK, I made it, but as negotiations go, I thought it would work out.

I told Hubs that for every 5 items he wanted, he could pick one.  

Hubs shows up with 5 items in the cart:

Me: OK, so pick one.

Hubs: I already did.

Me: No, you took all five.

Hubs: No, I put back the other 20.

My rule may need a little tweeking . . .

I'm sure you know that Aldi has a shopping cart system different from most stores. The carts are lined up and locked. You put a quarter in the slot of the first cart, it releases the lock, and you take the cart.

When you leave, you bring the cart back, lock it back in, and you get your quarter back. Not a difficult concept.

So, when we get to Aldi, I give Hubs a quarter and he meets me inside with the cart. When we leave, I wait in the car as he returns the cart. I wait, and I wait, and I wait. What the hell?

Finally, he comes back to the car, obviously exasperated, and starts to leave.

Me: What's the matter?
Hubs: I owe you a quarter.

Me: Huh?

Hubs: I couldn't figure out how to get the quarter back.

Me: What do you mean?

Hubs: I pushed the cart back into the line, but no quarter came out. They should have directions or something.

Me: Were you recently electrocuted?

Yeah, I'm still using that line. And still thoroughly enjoying it.

Lately, I've been ending these posts on a more serious note, and I'm doing that today as well.

I grew up outside of Boston, but I live in the Midwest. I'm not happy here for a whole list of reasons, but the political and resulting social climate is top on the list.

Listen, I was disheartened, but had been here long enough not to be surprised at the trump yard signs in my own neighborhood. When trump lost his second election I was, but probably should not have been surprised to see "impeach Biden," yard signs in my neighborhood BEFORE Biden was even inaugurated.

And, of course, since that time things have gotten so much worse. It's not safe to admit to being gay, Jewish, of Hispanic descent.

As I'm sure you know, June is pride month. And I was so impressed to see, in a neighborhood of ignorance, bigotry, and lack of inclusion, something new pop up.

A small garden of hope in this morally barren state.

 

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border

Strawberry S'Mores Galette

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1 refrigerated pie crust (half of a package)

10 mini marshmallws

25 mini fruit flavored marshmallows

1/3 cup chocolate chips

4 strawberries, hulled and sliced

OPT: 1 tsp sugar

Directions:
*Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Roll out the pie crust on a piece of parchment paper to about a 12 inch circle. Move, on the parchment paper, to a baking sheet.

*Sprinkle the marshmallows over the crust to about 1 1/2 inches from the edges. Top with the chocolate chips, then the sliced strawberries. OPT: sprinkle with 1 tsp sugar.

*Bake for 25 minutes, allow to sit for 5 minutes. Slice and serve warm.

Electrocuted: Fly on the Wall

 

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, Sarah, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh! 

I recently saw a commercial for Dish TV in which a bird asked a hyper (aren't they all?) squirrel "were you recently electrocuted?" I thought it was such a great burn, I started using it.

Hubs: Supposed to be a beautiful sunrise tomorrow, want me to wake you up?

Me: What time?
Hubs: About 5:30 am.
Me: Were you recently electrocuted?

Response on Threads to a post about the continued attacks by the trump on medicare, medicaid and social security: He is the best president ever making America great again.
Me: Were you recently electrocuted?

I was sitting out on the back deck when I saw one of the workers from a new internet company laying cable in our area. He walked through the end of my neighbor's back yard, continued along the tree line of large cottonwoods along the woods behind my house. Clearly, he didn't see me. All of a sudden he stops, kicks one of the big trees, takes about 6 more steps, kicks another tree, and keeps going into my neighbor's yard on the other side.

Me (from the deck): Were you recently electrocuted?

Random Email from the co-founder of a company in Hamburg, Germany: We are searching for an online site to acquire. Your site came up in our research. Would you be interested in starting a conversation with us?

Me: Were you recently electrocuted?

But I need to be careful not to let the wrong word slip. When I somehow mistakenly asked Hubs if he'd been recently executed (oops) . . . let's just say the humor gets lost in the translation (so to speak).

I'm not someone who considers herself to have an especially dirty mind, and certainly not when it comes to produce.

But when you place your grocery pick up order online and it includes a sweet potato and a couple of russet potatoes, and this is what you get:

I mean, what am I supposed to do with this?

Wait, don't answer that. But here's something I know for sure, I'm not going to be peeling that thing.

I've mentioned before that, with the woods in our backyard, we have with all kinds of wildlife. Most of it we really enjoy, but some are actually quite destructive. Like the woodpeckers, who have cost us thousands of dollars.

And then there are the moles, who destroy our yard.

Hubs was advised to buy these solar mole deterrents, you put the plastic stake in your yard, the solar sensor is fitted into the top and emits a pulse and a sound that apparently the moles don't like. For the past few years, when we see we have a problem, Hubs puts them in the back lawn.

A few weeks ago, our neighbor came over to let us know that our yard and his were being attacked. He put out a trap, and Hubs put out 4 the solar deterrents.

A couple of days later I was in the back yard and almost tripped over a plastic stake sticking out of the ground. I looked around, and about 3 feet to the right, I found this:

So, I'm guessing the moles have decided to definitively make their objections known.

A recent new recipe was inspired by an impulse buy. I'd found some fresh hot chili pepper linguini, and knew what I wanted to do with it.

 

I boiled water to cook the linguini, put it in the pot, checked the directions on the package and was stumped: "boil for 2 - 3 minutes, until the product internal temperature reaches 165 degrees".

 

I mean, I've never checked the internal temperature of pasta before. Like, what do you even use? A meat thermometer? Oral? Rectal?

I was telling Hubs about the directions over dinner:

Hubs: So what did you do?
Me: I just cooked it for 3 minutes and hoped for the best.

Hubs (giving me the side eye): And if the best doesn't happen?
Me: We'll be grateful that we have 4 bathrooms in this house.

Yes, we bravely ate it. And yes, it was delicious. And yes, we were fine. Phew.

Speaking of new recipes, once I have one in my head, I'm anxious to try it as soon as I can. Sometimes, though, I just don't have all of the ingredients on hand. That happened recently. I had everything but 2 ingredients.

 

Lucky for me, Hubs texted from work and wanted to know if I wanted him to pick anything up on the way home. I texted him the short list. 

 

About an hour or so later, he texted me back:

Hubs: I know what the first thing on your list is, but I'm not quite sure about the second. Can you clarify?

 

I didn't know which item he was referring to, so I checked my text to him:

heavy cream

cinnamon pot farts

Oy. Make that Cinnamon Pop Tarts. There are no farts in my recipes. Ever. 

Cinnamon Pastry Ice Cream (no churn)

I love to read, I'm mentioned it in many different blog posts, including in one of my earliest called Read This. My genre of choice is, and has always been, mysteries. I love trying to solve the who-done-it puzzle before the author reveals it.

 

Sometimes when reading, you pick up the strangest little bits of information when you least expect it. In the book I'm currently reading, the male protagonist was on a date. He's a scientist and, in trying to impress his date (not how I'd do it, but you do you, buddy), he imparted this bit of wisdom about the planets: "you can fit 63 Earths in Uranus." 

Well I, for one, will never be able to think of the planets the same again.

 

Hubs and I have opposite eyes. He needs his glasses for close up, and I use mine for far away. I suppose if we could marry our visual resources we'd end up with 20/20, but those days are long gone.

An example of our opposite eyesight:

Hubs (looking at his cell): That's ridiculous.

Me: What is?

Hubs: My cell says it's 79 degrees, and it's more like 65.

Me (looking at his cell): Put your glasses on.

Hubs: What do my glasses have to do with the weather.

Me: With your glasses on you might be able to see that the little symbol next to the 79 is not degrees, it's percent.

Hubs: What?

Me: You're not looking at the temperature, you're looking at your battery level.

Hubs: Oh. Never mind.

Hubs brought in the mail, and right away a pink envelope caught my eye.

Me: What's that?
Hubs: It's from your mother.

Me (looking at the envelope): It's not FROM my mother, it's TO my mother.

I quickly grabbed the phone:

Me: Guess what I got in the mail today?
Mom: I don't know, what?
Me: Your birthday card.

Mom: My birthday card? My birthday was weeks ago.

Me: Yeah, I guess they're real sticklers about that whole you need to add a stamp to your mail thing . . .

Hubs and I were sitting down to watch a Red Sox game.

Or to recite a comedy routine, although we didn't know it at the time.

Hubs: Looks like Casas isn't playing first base today.

Me: Who's on first?
Hubs: I don't know.

Me (laughing): I know.

Hubs: Who?

Me: Yes.

I'm going to end this post on a very serious note. 

I have, in the past when I was publishing 8 to 9 blog posts a month, spoken out quite a bit about both the politics in this country, and the hatred unleashed by the con man currently hell bent on destroying it. I don't generally bang my head against that brick wall in my posts as much, partly because at this point, I'm mostly only publishing this monthly Fly on the Wall.

But College Boy came here the other day with a story, and a picture, that both saddened and sickened me.

He had ordered some Mexican food, and was approaching the restaurant from the back when he saw something that made no sense. There was a truck parked behind the restaurant and what looked like a dead rabbit placed on the hood.

College Boy took a picture and went inside. He asked the person at the counter if that truck belonged to an employee. It did. When he was shown the picture, the employee didn't seem surprised. He told College Boy that people "have been messing" with them. "We think it's because we're Mexican." They do have cameras in the back, and he said he'd check the video.

But honestly, I think even if he reports it, no one will really care.

Because, right now, that's who we are. 

So saddened, and sickened, and exceedingly ashamed.

 

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border 

What TF Sarah

Cinnamon Pastry Ice Cream (no churn)

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

3 Frosted Brown Sugar Cinnamon toaster pastries

2 TBSP cinnamon baking chips

1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk

2 cups heavy cream

Directions:
*Line a loaf pan with strips of plastic wrap long enough to hang over the edges. Place in freezer.

*Toast and chop the toaster pastries. Place in freezer.

*Using a clean coffee grinder or a food processor, crush the baking chips into crumbs.

*In a large bowl, mix the sweetened condensed milk and the cinnamon chip crumbs. Set aside.

*Beat the heavy cream until stiff peaks hold, then fold into the condensed milk. Last, reserving a few pieces for the top if you want, fold in the chopped toaster pastries.

*Pour evenly into the loaf pan. Freeze overnight.

*Store in the loaf pan with the long ends of the plastic wrap folded over the top.

Carpet, Coffee, and Kale: Fly on the Wall

  

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh! 

Hubs is a bit of a dinosaur. Among many other things, he's always worn a watch, and he still does. Not necessary since his cell phone . . . you know . . . will tell him the time, but whatever.

I've also mentioned that he tends to think very differently than I do, so a lot of what he says, opposite of how I'd think through whatever the circumstance may be, doesn't surprise me. Until yesterday:

Hubs: I need to buy a new watch for my battery.

Me: That's an interesting way of remedying the situation. Not exactly frugal, but if it makes you happy . . .

Two things I've mentioned before: first is that I often share here the (mostly) funny things I text due to either my cell phone's text correction (I need to figure out how to turn that off), or, well, operator error. My history dictates I should check texts before I send them, but I'm usually in a rush.

Second is that PurDude and I text every day, we have since he moved to Boulder. He checks in, I tell him a few things that are going on around here, he usually gives me a one-word answer, then ends with "love you ma." I either say "love and miss you," or "love you, honey."

Yesterday, the conversation ended a little differently.

PurDude: Love you, ma.

Me: Love you, horny.

Ah, yeah, I'm not too embarrassed.

One of the few things I dislike about my house is the carpet. The wood floors I love, but the carpet is not what I’d choose. Most of it is white, which doesn’t work well with young kids, as we’d had when we moved in. But the carpet in the den is the worst.

I had really thought I’d end up replacing it, but something else always seemed to come up. Like completely furnishing the place, since I sold my last house furnished at the request of the buyer, and you know, kids . . . college . . . life . . . 

I bought a beautiful, large, Persian hand-made rug, so some of the carpet is covered, but the rest is a constant frustration. It’s textured. And speckled. I’ll be walking to another room and think I see a bug, or a bit of food, or part of a leaf from outdoors. I stop, bend down to look and no, a dark carpet speckle.

I was pointing it out to a new neighbor, and it turns out she’d sold carpet in the past. she told me it was a fairly expensive carpet, and when she’d sold something like this, she’d always mention that people love it because the speckles of dark color are like camouflage, it hides dirt.

And I have to say, I could never sell carpet. Because I couldn’t explain as a selling point to some poor customer that you can’t tell when it’s dirty, because it always looks dirty. 

Not with a straight face, anyway.

FB is often suggesting people I should friend or groups I should join. They're often pretty arbitrary, leaving me wondering where they come up with these recommendations.

This morning, they took me by surprise. Their recommendation was for a group I should join called Wacky Widows.

And although I bet it's a fun and supportive group, I wonder whose job it will be to tell my husband . . .

We were watching a Celtics game when, at half time, they cut to the studio. One host was wishing another a happy birthday. The desk was covered with Kale, a birthday present.

Me: Don't ever get me Kale for my birthday.

Hubs: OK.

Me: Will you remember?

Hubs: Yes, since I don't know what it is.

Me: But you could bake me a loaf of Clementine Blueberry Bread.

Hubs: You've got a better chance of getting a bunch of Kale.

Clementine Blueberry Bread

Hubs had some errands to do and decided to take my car as I needed gas and he could stop on the way home. About an hour later, I hear screeching sounds coming from the garage. I go out the door and see my car sitting in the garage, alarm going off, all the lights flashing, and Hubs sitting in the driver's seat looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

Me (yelling over the noise): What are you doing?

Hubs: Trying to shut this off.

Me: How did you turn it on?
Hubs: I don't know.

He reaches for the Audi owner's manual, I head in to check out YouTube. After a few minutes, I hear it shut off.

Me: How did you do that?

Hubs: I don't know, it just stopped.

Hubs needs a new car, and I'm thinking maybe we should trade his in for a tricycle. 

 

Tuesday evening I noticed that the laundry chute was getting pretty full, so I guess laundry was on the agenda for the next morning. I decided to collect and do all of the towels too.

Me: I'm doing laundry tomorrow, I'll do a load of towels as well.

Hubs: Should I send my towels down in the morning after I shower?
Me: It doesn't matter, I can get them when I go up to shower.

Hubs: That will work. There's like a 50/50 chance I'll remember anyway.

Me (rolling my eyes): More like a 20% chance.

Hubs: Are you insulting me?
Me: No, but it doesn't matter.

Hubs: It doesn't matter if you insult me?
Me: No, after all, there's like a 20% chance you'll remember it tomorrow . . .

I still have a coffeemaker, don't use those single cup makers because that's just not how I drink my coffee. I set up the coffee maker the night before and put out mugs for Hubs and I.

I don't drink an entire mug of coffee at a time, I pour myself a cup and sit down on the couch to play my word games. As the coffee starts to cool down, or as I drink it most of the way down, I just go fill it the rest of the way up.

Hubs goes into the office, usually twice a week. On those days I put out a travel mug for him. But he will sometimes forget to fill and take it. So, I decided to remind him.

That morning, I reminded him and that night he came in, handed me the mail and his mug, and turned to go change his clothes. The mug, though, didn't feel empty. I go to the sink and pour out an entire mug of coffee. Hubs sees me at the sink with a perplexed look on my face.

Hubs: It's your fault.

Me: What is?

Hubs: The full mug of coffee.

Me: How is that my fault.

Hubs: You reminded me to take it in the car with me.

Me: Yeah, and . . .

Hubs: You didn't remind me to take it out of the car and into work with me.

And this, my friends, is proof positive that the brain does not function properly before coffee.

Who are you, really?

It's difficult having the name Karen lately, I'm guessing you can figure out why.

When people use the name as an insult, I mostly ignore it. But when a social media post is specifically from someone touting how kind and compassionate and pro this and that they are, that just ticks too many of my boxes. 

This recently happened on threads, a post about how humanitarian, caring, empathetic and the opposite of Karen's (yes, they used an apostrophe for a plural, so clearly a brain surgeon) this person claims to be. I responded that using a name that many good people share as an insult is not caring and empathetic, it's bullying.

And wow, did I get bashed. People responded telling me to stfu, that I should go cry somewhere else, that I'm the reason the name Karen is used that way . . .

So, if this is humanitarian, caring, empathetic, and compassionate, I wonder what cruel and hateful looks like to these people (all of whom I blocked, of course).

Maybe I should share this with them:

And who I am. Really.

Hubs had some work he needed to get done, and as well as a few things I'd put on his list that needed done around the house.

I had a load of laundry to do, dishwasher to run, dinner to prep, and grocery list to finish. 

We both got our lists completed and were finally settling down to watch TV, this night there was another Celtics game on and we were looking forward to watching.

But 2 minutes in, and there was a problem.

Me: I'm not going to be able to watch this game.

Hubs: What? We've been looking forward to this all day.

Me: I know.

Hubs: So what do you mean you can't watch.

Me: Did you see White?
Hubs: Yeah, I saw him, he's a starter.

Me: But did you see the back of his shirt?
Hubs: The back of his shirt? 

Me: Yes, his tag is sticking up out of the back of his shirt. And that's just going to drive me nuts.

Hubs (rolling his eyes): You're kidding, right?

Oh, how I wish I were.

 

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border

Clementine Blueberry Bread

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1 TBSP sugar

1/2 tsp cinnamon

2 1/2 cups plus 1 TBSP flour, divided

1 cup sugar

1 tsp salt

1 TBSP baking powder

1 1/4 cups milk

1/2 cup oil

1/2 tsp vanilla

1/4 cup sour cream

2 eggs

1 cup blueberries

2 clementines

OPT: 5 TBSP powdered sugarn and 2 tsp orange juice

Directions:

*Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a loaf pan, mix 1 TBSP of the sugar with the cinnamon and dust a loaf pan with this mixture.

*Place 2 1/2 cups of the flour, the remaining sugar, salt, and baking pwder in a large bowl and whisk togethter. Add the milk, oil, vanilla, sour cream, and eggs. Mix until incorporated.

*Peel the clementines and separate into sections. Set aside 5 sections for the top, and chop the rest.

*Set aside 5 or 6 blueberries. Toss the remaining blueberries with the remaining 1 TBSP flour. Fold into the dough along with the chopped clementines.

*Spread the dough evenly into the loaf pan. Top with the reserved blueberries and clementine segments. Bake for 60 - 65 minutes, until the top springs back to the touch.

*Cool in the pan for 10 minutes. Run a knife around the edges, remove, and cool completely.

*OPT: whisk together the powdered sugar and orange juice. Drizzle over the cooled loaf.