Breather

Too much work and school means monotony and the blahs.

So we stopped for a day.

To play.
































It made a world of difference!

Changing with the Seasons

I'm back. My blog hiatus was short lived, eh. I'm a woman - I'm allowed to be fickle.

A dramatic, life-changing moment shocked me this weekend. My evil was presented to me undeniably, clearly, jarringly, third-person speaking to me, about me, no tree to hide behind, oh my. Talk about a mirror held up before a face. Just what I needed and prayed for. Hurt like hell. Really and truly and pardon the French. (The French get blamed for everything!)

Like a painful birth really or maybe the lancing of a boil. A huge boil. Out oozes the evil for all to see, especially me. My shame felt squirmingly, wrenchingly.

Forgiveness. Starting over with a new mindset, outlook, perspective. Sometimes it takes experience - decades worth - to lay down the situation undeniably. Discomfort. Pain. There it is. Look at it. Feel it. Know it. Helpless to stop on my own because the process wasn't complete. I had to have a pronouncement from someone I trust, someone much wiser than I, someone not in the thick of this - this - this thing that I do.

And pronounce he did.

And there was a loud CLICK in my head. "I get it. Ick. I totally get it. Ugly. Why do I do it? Doesn't matter. No more. What a jerk I have been."

Understanding is the beginning of wisdom is the beginning of repentance, contrition, and change.

Wasn't hard to quit once the full smack-down landed on me with a full body-blow.

Ouch.

And then...ahhhh.

Relief. For all of us.

Hoi Polloi

This blog doesn't fit right anymore. Am I growing? Changing? Or is it just the seasons - of Earth, of my life?

I find myself tugging and straightening and frowning and scratching my head.

I'll probably be back again. But for now I'm taking a vacation from here.

I'll be relaxing over at Heightened Awareness for the summer.

And enjoying the solitude of my private blog and paper journal.

You may bump into me in the real world, too, where I intend to try new things, maybe get together with some of you face to face, and just generally observe and participate wherever the breezes of sunny days and merry moods take me.

I know there'll be many delicious moments spent in my secret places - my secret pleasures and pains - my secret searchings and findings - my secret endeavors - my secret bliss.

(I hope you have a vital secret life, too.)

See you around!

Croissant

When Ben was barely walking I made croissants in my kitchen, in a different neighborhood, in a different town. They were fantastic.

Over two and a half decades later - craving real croissants all that time and never finding satisfaction - I made another batch.

These are better.

These are truly French, except they were made here in Oregon.

By me.

And it took three days.

Today was bake-them day.

Poor Cassie and Caroline walked out the door to their French class just moments before I pulled the flaky rolls from the oven.

Don't feel sorry for the girls. The croissants are safe with me. I ate one for lunch with a small dish of last summer's berries topped with creme fraiche. That's enough. Craving satisfied.





On with the day.

Content.

(Wish you were here.)

Afterglow

Easter lasted five days for us, five days of dearly beloved coming and going, staying and playing, laughing, talking, and doing all those interesting holiday things. Besides the kids and their friends, my parents were here for three days. What a pleasure to pamper them, feed them, get them moving. And the pinochle was AWESOME!

My paper journal writings are a dozen pages longer this morning so my head is blissfully floaty right now, relieved of the annoyance of jammed thoughts and noisy words jostling for position. Only afterglowing ponderings of the last five days swirl amiably amidst the gray matter.

I read this in a book today: Quality is a passion, even a compulsion.

It sums up Tom, the kids, and my perspective of life.

Not that we always achieve quality but we do love it so.

(Right, Sam?)

At three o'clock Sunday morning I couldn't sleep. Excited about Easter Sunday, you see. I flipped open my non-recipe book hoping to read myself sleepy. Instead, I found amongst its pages a random recipe for French Baguettes.

"These look ridiculously easy. Really easy," I whispered aloud to myself there in the guest bed. (My parents were snoring peacefully in the master bedroom, Tom buzzed on the futon.)

I finished reading the chapter only to turn back to the recipe.

"Still not sleepy. I could make these right now and serve them with dinner instead of cornbread. It'd leave the oven open for roasting the vegetables. Fresh, yeasty bread. Good idea. Am I really that awake? Yes. Yes, I am."

So I did it. I made baguettes in the dark of Sunday morning. While the dough rose I sat myself down in the leather rocker and read the resurrection accounts in my Bible. And I cried. And I prayed. And I punched down the dough and formed baguettes. And they rose with the sun which was shrouded in rain clouds but dawn's light arrived just the same. It came and brightened my living room. And my kitchen. And my heart.

Cassie groggily wandered to where I sat meditating. "What are you making, Mama? It smells yeasty. Or are you cooking with wine again?"

"Follow your nose, Cassie. I think you'll be pleased."

She was.

I smiled.

And I wasn't tired all Easter day - but slept well that night.

For a myriad of reasons.

Temporarily Out of Service

Three days of sunshine so far, windows and doors wide open, zorries on feet, flowers popping up EVERYWHERE, Tom tidying the yard, the girls and I pulling nails from building project lumber, squirrels taunting the beagle, symphony of lawn mowers in the neighborhood, weeds sprouting in spite of my cursing at their little selves, soil damp rather than saturated, peat pots on the window sill sprouting garden plants, and blossoming trees joyously waving limb-arms to the heavens in celebration of Spring, of Easter, of Resurrection!

With company coming for Easter weekend my week is full of lists: "Chores", "Menus", "Groceries".

At our noon meal we are reading aloud, Christ in the Passover. Sets the mood for the week.

This is my favorite Holiday. It's the most spiritually meaningful to me and it's easy compared to Christmas or Thanksgiving.

I find myself contemplative.

I find myself energized.

I find myself eager to host my family and friends this weekend.

And I find myself relaxed into the spirit of the holiday.

Happy Easter, everyone, whatever your spiritual leanings.

I'll see you on the other side.

joie de vivre

"Get Back to Where You Once Belonged"

Plato said that writing would rob people of memory. We'd record what we wanted to remember thus decreasing our ability to mentally store it . We would no longer have to remember everything. Lists replaced mnemonic devices. Traveling bards were replaced with books, written plays, films, photo albums, and scrapbooks. Sure enough, we don't have the memory to remember to charge our cell phones let alone recall the entire story of The Iliad.

More and more I'm becoming disenchanted with our high-tech world. Today's pet peeves include computer social networks (yes, still) and other desperate attempts to record life as it's being lived instead of living it and letting it record itself.

I understand blogging. I don't understand Facebook. I've dallied with it for several weeks and find it frustrating for the most part. Sure, positive impacts are recognized such as family and friend connections. But then, that's just it. Have I really connected? Or do I just know a few more tidbits and statistics about these people? I haven't seen their eyes, smelled their breath, touched their hands, or heard voice tones. I only know what tidbits they willingly share. While it's encouraging to know they are okay for the most part, that their lives give them pleasure and growth, still, I am frustrated. Like smelling dinner but never eating it. 'I can't get no satisfaction.'

This morning I reclaimed some of myself from my Facebook 'Info' section and removed dozens of 'friends'. It's impossible for me to do right by nearly 90 people, so I'll try to keep it under 50. I certainly don't require ego boosting by having inflated numbers. My ego is well out of its box as it is. It's challenging enough to stay true to my in-the-flesh friends and they will always have priority.

Equally perplexing is the constant craving to over-photograph life in stills or video. New cameras make it easy for even a novice like me to take pretty decent pictures and I do. And it gives me joy to capture special moments, though I often notice that I think too much about recording a thing rather than simply enjoying it. Lately, my mind relaxes into the idea that moments can remain unshared, that it's okay to keep them to myself or share them with whoever is with me, but I don't have to exploit the moment via some form of media. After all I can't record every single fantastic or beautiful or zany thing I witness. The freedom to pick and choose - without regret - is sweet.

I do understand the persistent recording of children. They grow and change quickly and without some sort of record it's easy to forget their small antics and adorabilities. This is all well and good. Though sometimes it seems we make them the stars of our world and go overboard. Life becomes a movie and is seen as such; realness is abandoned. It's a subtle thing, and regrettable. I've photographed or video-recorded kids only to have them grab and turn my camera hand to look at their image in the viewing-window, judging whether what I've captured is good enough or needs to be redone. I see kids aping for the camera, one eye on it instead of on the activity in which they participate. This bothers me.

Of course, lots of things bother me.

Like scrapbooking. I don't get it. I've done it, I have scrapbooks of trips, of occasions, of my dog. They take up an enormous amount of space and rarely are perused. I find it rather boring looking at other people's scrapbooks preferring to look at just photos without all that crap that the sticker and doo-dad people sell as must-haves for scrappers. Cartoonish. My life isn't a cartoon and neither is anyone else's.

Tell me about your trip with your body, your voice, and show me the photos as you go. Photo albums are big enough without adding silliness which bloats them up to sometimes unwieldy sizes. Can you imagine where they'll end up? I am eternally thankful that my mom is not a scrapper. Oh, the miserable responsibility of lugging those things through life, passing them down and down, hauling them around because you just can't throw away Grandma's scrapbooks. I refuse to do that to my kids. My memories are mine. The kids each have a lovingly-made baby book from their father and me. The rest of my recorded life is either verbally passed along or being sparingly written in journals (feel free to toss them, kids. I wrote them for me, not you). There are photos. The rest can be imagined, romanticized, lived without. I encourage my kids to live their own lives not feed off of the residue of mine. "But they can learn from my life." Yeah, sure, but how about this? How about they learn their own version, unique to them, discovering it for the first time through reality rather than a two-foot square, four-inch thick scrapbook filled with your memories? Walking backward instead of forward through life is to merely exist, to stumble, to react rather than to observe, decide, and create. The wisdom necessary to pass down takes up little space. The rest is gleaned along the way.

I remember reading an article about a young, vital, athletic woman who cancer began to kill. Independent though she was she was swayed to follow traditional therapy to the fullest including massive radiation and chemotherapy. As the cancer began to retreat so did her quality of life. Bout after bout of nausea-inducing foreign matter entered her body. Her hair fell out. That didn't bother her. Her body shriveled. Again, something she could live with. Her time was swallowed up in table-lying sessions as toxins dripped into her veins and rendered her useless, slumped over her toilet, and drained of energy. Weeks turned into months. Her life became a blur, unreal. She couldn't enjoy the fresh air, good food, or the touch of her husband's hand. She'd nearly forgotten that life was more - much more - than the sickly smell of a hospital, the phoniness of a doctor's office, and waiting rooms crowded with sick people who mirrored her misery.

While lying in the medical facility on a narrow bed, needle stuck in her arm, familiar white walls and disinfectant smells surrounding her this woman had an intense flash of memory. She remembered feeling alive. She remembered laughing and running, the feel of lake water rushing over her swim-suit clad body, picking and eating juicy berries after hiking for hours in the mountains, and her husband's relaxed countenance as they met in bed at the end of the day. That was life. Hospital beds and sickness were not.

She knew she was going to die from the cancer. It had spread. She'd agreed to attack and attack hard. She won a few years beyond what doing nothing would have given her. But she realized a tipping point while on that gurney with the needle in her arm. She could continue traditional countermeasures and feel sick until she died or she could unplug, walk away, and live - truly live - until she died.

As she remembered life and the glory of it which once was hers she made her choice. With index finger and thumb she firmly pinched the needle and slid it out of her arm. She stood up. She decidedly set the needle and tubing down on the bed still warm from her tiny body. And she silently walked away.

She died to live. Truly live. Again, before the darkness that was destined to swallow her could.

And that darkness is destined to swallow us all. The over-recording, the frantic expressions of our existence, our desperate pleas to be heard, known, and remembered, our needle-in-the-arm attachment to a world that is toxic will not change the ending or even delay it. It only robs of fullness, deeper knowing, understanding, and growth. Of quality. Here and now. Heavy laden, mentally crowded, junk addicted minds and hearts trudge and plod where there should be light, curious footsteps carrying unfettered minds and vigorous hearts.

Pull the needle of society's lures and expectations.

Die - to a world that has no heart - to live - in a world that does.

Pausing to Hug and Know

My aunt and uncle from Arizona came by to visit for a few days during Spring Break this week. Always nice to have fresh faces and flowing words as the seasons change.











We played TONS of pinochle, sometimes late into the night. So hard to stop! Uncle Floyd and Caroline ponder the bidding process.



Cassie either has a good hand or a good poker face. Aunt Joyce sorts and contemplates.

Uncle Floyd tries his lips on the didgeridoo. It worked! Kangaroos and koalas came running down the street and we waltzed with Matilda.

Aunt Joyce has for decades been the family genealogist. Her book of names, dates, photos, news articles and other papers of interest has grown quite thick! Turns out my family on Dad's side came over in 1711 or so, before there was a United States of America. Three brothers from Germany with a dream. It worked out just fine. We have fought and died and lived through wars - including a winter at Valley Forge - farmed, worked for newspapers, enforced the law, started churches, fled the dustbowl, settled in California, and here we are, thriving to this day. We helped build a nation. How cool is that? Tom received a good, long lesson from Aunt Joyce who two days prior gave the girls and I a thorough education as well. (Don't feel sorry for her. She LOVES this stuff. Right, AJ?)


Cassie and Caroline enjoyed catching up with Aunt Joyce. And height-wise, they've surpassed her! They taught their great uncle and aunt how to bowl and play tennis on the Wii, they walked around our neighborhood park talking a mile a minute with them, played cards, ate, laughed, chatted from dawn to the wee hours, and got to know two people who are some of their very treasured family members.

A most pleasant happening.

"Much Ado About Nothing"

Tonight Cassie and Caroline debuted in their very first play, Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare. The play came together marvelously. Cast, crew, and audience all had a great time!

Cassie played the middle-aged spinster aunt, Antonia, getting many a hearty laugh with her animated, boisterous, comedy and drama. Caroline played a messenger (wearing an adorable brown velvet cape with matching hat, black pants, and puffy sleeved shirt) and Sister Anne offering elegance, grace, and emotional delivery of her important lines.

Mrs. Carr, the director, asked us to refrain from snapping photos during the play so as not to distract the kids. These photos are from afterwards when the pink-cheeked girls were mingling with their audience.


Caroline as Sister Anne and Cassie as Antonia


Gorgeous costumes!


Cassie loved these shoes!


Peace played Signora Leonato, Cassie's sister in the play, Cassie, Caroline, and Kyndra who played Don Pedro


Ben and Joe talk animatedly with the actresses, their little sisters


The villain Don John, as played by Maddy who's quite a character


The six of us in various stages of glee


Tired but happy. A wonderful experience!

Cassie and Caroline can't wait to see what the rest of the school year in Shakespeare class has to offer.

Athens Comes to Mind

"Freedom strictly limited by self-control - that was the idea of Athens at her greatest."

"Free men, independent men, were always worth inexpressibly more than men submissive and controlled."

"Civilization, a much abused word, stands for a high matter quite apart from telephones and electric lights. It is a matter of imponderables, of delight in the things of the mind, of love and beauty, of honor, grace, courtesy, delicate feeling. Where imponderables are the things of first importance, there is the height of civilization, and if, at the same time, the power to act exists unimpaired, human life has reached a level seldom attained and very seldom surpassed. Few individuals are capable of the achievement; periods of history which have produced such men in sufficient numbers to stamp their age are rare indeed."

Such was the brief Golden Age of Athens, which as best I can tell spanned years equal to that of my life so far.

Then, things went south.

"Solon, too great and too good to want power for himself...saw that power worked out in evil and that greed was its source and its strength. 'Men are driven on by greed to win wealth in unrighteous ways,' he wrote, 'and he who has most wealth always covets twice as much.' Of power he said, 'Powerful men pull the city down.'"

"The cause of all these evils was the desire for power which greed and ambition inspire." Thucydides III, 83

"Thucydides saw that the foundation stone of all morality, the regard for the rights of others, had crumbled and fallen away."

And thus began the downfall of the Greek Way.

Glorious that The Golden Age had its moment in the sun. Tragic that is was too brief.

I see our country's strengths and weaknesses mirrored in the pages of history. Of course. History repeats itself, right? But I thought we studied the lessons of days gone by so that we wouldn't repeat the errors and would benefit from the experiences of others. To study is not necessarily to learn.

To take a broad view, to stand back and observe, to lend a hand where I may, to live my life with honor and authenticity, to be unafraid of unfolding events in the trust that the hand of God cups them still, this is the way of wisdom and peace.

I think.

Processing continues...

(All quotes from The Greek Way, by Edith Hamilton)

When Will We Ever Learn

Just finished watching The Wind That Shakes the Barley about Irish Freedom Fighters in the early 20th century.

Breaks me.

War is not healthy for children and other living things.

Heavy heart.

Heavy, heavy heart.

The Parting Glass

To my aunt.

Who gave me happiness in my childhood,
Who taught me that ingredients matter,
Who loved yellow and red as much as I do,
Who ate M&M's and drank Cowboy Coffee,
Who's heart and life have been a lesson to me
All my life...

Farewell.


Reunion on the other side will be sweet.

"But since it falls unto my lot,
That I should rise and you should not,
I gently rise and softly call,
Good night and joy be with you all."

~~Traditional

Never Too Young for Paul

Last night I happened upon this on PBS.

As my two guitar-playing musicians prepped for beddie-bye, toothbrushes bulging from cheeks, bleery-eyed, and jammie-clad they heard Paul McCartney singing and playing from our television. Good ears, especially for teenagers who were talking a mile a minute, yes, even with toothpaste and brushes polishing their teeth. You know how it goes.

First one daughter, then the other wandered into the room.

"It's Paul!" (The Beatles are favorites around here, on all of our iPods and frequently in the CD player in the car.)

Suddenly bedtime was deemed unnecessary. Listening, watching, and learning took precedence.

And leaning toward the TV to soak it all in.

And smiling.

Cassie has been playing classical guitar for nearly three years now, while Caroline is coming up on her one year anniversary of electric guitar lessons. (You should hear Caroline play the riff for Day Tripper. Amazing.)

Paul found an audience with them. And with me.

Not only did he sing some old - familiar to us - songs to new music ("An old woman in a new dress," he explained prior to singing Lady Madonna) but he sang newer ones as well, such as the delightful English Tea.

He also demonstrated recording the layering of various instrumental and other sounds one upon another until an entire number was complete. Glorious fun! All done in Studio 2 at London's Abbey Road Studios where most of the Beatles' recordings were made.

The name of the show is PAUL MCCARTNEY: CHAOS AND CREATION AT ABBEY ROAD.

The girls and I were wishing it didn't end. Such enjoyment.

Worth a peek.

Notes to Self: Freeing Oneself from Toxic Relationships

When you can't accept that a particular relationship has a short shelf life, or is toxic, you're "...like a dog at the dump, baby - you're just lickin' at an empty tin can, trying to get more nutrition out of it. And if you're not careful, that can's gonna get stuck on your snout forever and make your life miserable. So drop it...Send them some love and light every time you think about them, and then drop it."

"Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing in my family because I don't resemble them at all."

"You may not come here anymore with your hard and abusive thoughts, with your plague ships of thoughts, with your slave ships of thoughts, with your warships of thoughts - all these will be turned away. Likewise, any thoughts that are filled with angry or starving exiles, with malcontents and pamphleteers, mutineers and violent assassins, desperate prostitutes, pimps and seditious stowaways - you may not come here anymore, either. Cannibalistic thoughts, for obvious reasons, will no longer be received. Even missionaries will be screened carefully, for sincerity. This is a peaceful harbor, the entryway to a fine and proud island that is only now beginning to cultivate tranquillity. If you can abide by these new laws, my dear thoughts, then you are welcome in my mind - otherwise, I shall turn you all back toward the sea from whence you came. That is my mission, and it will never end."

"As smoking is to the lungs, so is resentment to the soul; even one puff of it is bad for you...You might just as well hang it up and kiss God good-bye if you really need to keep blaming somebody else for your own life's limitations."

"I thought of how many people go to their graves unforgiven and unforgiving. I thought of how many people have had siblings or friends or children or lovers disappear from their lives before precious words of clemency or absolution could be passed along. How do the survivors of terminated relationships ever endure the pain of unfinished business? From that place of meditation, I found the answer - you can finish the business, from within yourself. It's not only possible it's essential."

(excerpts from Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love

Soul Mate

"People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that's holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake."

~~ Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love

Thanks, Tom. You are mine and I will forever be grateful.

Keep smacking me awake, lover.

Workin' It Out

Pot de Creme au Chocolat.

(The above photo shows it right after I poured it into the dishes. It's still warm.)

Never heard of it until Valentine's Day when Tom and I ordered it during our romantic dinner out.

Now I know how to make it myself.

And Tom says mine's better. (It's so rich it nearly makes my eyes sweat.)





So many things to learn and try in this life!

What fun.

Spring and Yet Not

"I think we should say it's spring when the flowers start to push up through the ground and bud on the trees instead of from an equinox date on a calendar, " said Cassie at supper.

"I think it should count when you feel like it's spring," replied Caroline.

And I agree with both girls. While I know that February in western Oregon is known for having Spring Teasers, still, if it LOOKS and FEELS like spring, even though that first warm waft has yet to breeze upon our skin and thrill our senses, it's spring.

I pruned back my bushy herbs - lavender and two types of sage - and did some weeding and sweeping. Tom mowed the lawns - big difference - tidied the yard, and weeded. The girls weeded and hand-tilled our little veggie garden area, cut back the dead zebra grass and carpet-of-snow, and weeded the strawberry patch.

Afterwards, we celebrated with a hot meal which included our last CSA delicata squash, fresh California asparagus, meatloaf, baby red potatoes with butter and basil, and still warm vanilla pudding for dessert. We toasted with cold grape juice in goblets: "To the beginning of spring! We work now to create beauty and food for later. Cheers!"

Dishes washed, showers taken, we gathered together in the living room to watch Much Ado About Nothing.

A very enjoyable family day!

Cheers to you, too!

An Authentic Life

To live an authentic life, not a warmed-over reproduction of someone else's, aping the moves of the envied.

To write my own life's music - whether loud or quiet - rather than solely parroting the songs of others.

To dare reveal the genuine, uniquely expressed, as opposed to mere conformity meant to impress the shallow who judge the outward, seemingly oblivious to the deep, deep inward.

To climb the mountain of my potential for view and growth instead of for a photo-opportunity that begs attention.

While the posers of the world play King of the Hill, madly shoving and clawing toward dominance on a crumbling, teetering peak using faster, shinier, noisier machines, and gaudy possessions fresh from producers who use the duped to prosper themselves, while these same imitators desperately scratch words on technological walls and pages or on tiny screens clutched like life-support systems in ever-clenching fists, while everyday people swallow the swill of strangers to whom they look for guidance on youth and coolness factors, those few who dare think - think! - find themselves ever on the outskirts, away from the glare, heads shaking in astonishment that fellow human beings consistently turn their attention away from what is real to instead measure success by the amount of material possessions they hoard and how contemporary their toys may be, how splintered their attention can become due to constant fatuous interruptions, and how often their jarring voices can vomit incongruous words into spaces void of reason.

Like the last cup of bath water which quickly swirls down the drain, society's runaway oblivion seems unstoppable.

The pull of the crowd is fierce. It scares me. Because sometimes I am too weary to fight.

But I always return to my mind and my heart.

Today there is a force yanking at my emotions luring me to compete, to compromise.

But I resist. I cloister myself from seduction. Experience, belief, knowledge, understanding restore equilibrium. Posers. They are posers who polish a facade. This is not my aim in life. No.

I find resolution.

Just So Easy

Looks like joy, doesn't, it?

Huh?

Back and forth she hovered, comparing prices on quarts of imitation cream for coffee. This one and that one, vanilla flavored or almond, green labels, red, yellow. This ' good nutrient' added, that 'bad one' left out. So many choices! Finally she settled on one just as her husband wheeled their loaded shopping cart around the corner.

"I found a good deal on this one!"

It was a quart of the food-like substance, ingredient list an inch long of chemicals discovered in a scientist's lab. The price: $2.67. She was quite pleased.

I felt sad for right there on the top shelf, in quiet purple and white cartons, stood quarts of cream. Real cream. One natural ingredient. For 98 cents.

Maybe she was lactose intolerant.

Lemmings. We've become lemmings.

Nestled

On Sunday Tom and I visited my parents 100 miles south of here. We found them content, healthy, eager to visit. Wood stove burning at just the right temperature, coffee steaming in the pot, news to share. Pleasant visit.

Heading down the drive-way we spotted six deer, some nestled in the greening grass, some snooping around the barn, some playing with others. Reflective brown eyes, slender bodies blending into the land, twitching ears, graceful, beautiful creatures.

Scenes and experiences of safety and satisfaction are necessary for me. Balance from a too-often chaotic world which alarms and discourages is derived from peacefulness.

Knowledge of my parents' tranquility soothes me, comforts me, carries me through the days. While I know that life's blows come suddenly, I choose to nestle my heart in this knowing today. I'll take it. I'll take it while it's here. I'll give myself over to its gentleness, and let my soul rejoice.

Today.

For Cecily - English Muffin Recipe

This morning I rouse myself from wintry laziness to copy this recipe down for Cecily, who is full of summer energy.
-----------------------
ENGLISH MUFFINS, from the More-With-Less Cookbook

Makes 18 muffins

Heat in a saucepan until very warm (130 degrees F/54 C):

1 - 1/2 c. milk
1/4 c. butter

In large mixer bowl, combine:

2 T. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 pkg. dry yeast (or 1 T.)
1 - 1/2 c. flour

With mixer at low speed, gradually beat liquid into dry ingredients. Increase speed and beat 2 minutes, or beat vigorously by hand.

Beat in:

1 egg
1 c. flour

With spoon, add:

2 c. flour, or enough to make stiff dough

Turn dough onto lightly floured surface and knead just until well mixed, about 2 minutes. Shape dough into a ball and place in greased [I use oil] large bowl, turning once. Cover; let rise in warm place until doubled, about 1 - 1/2 hours. Punch down. Turn onto lightly floured surface; cover with bowl 15 minutes, and let dough rest.

Meanwhile, place cornmeal in a pie plate. Roll dough about 3/8" thick. Cut dough into 3" circles [I use my 3" biscuit/cookie cutter]; reroll scraps to make 18 circles [or thereabouts] in all. Dip both sides of each circle in cornmeal; place circles on cookie sheets. Cover and let rise in warm place until doubled, about 45 minutes. Brush large skillet with salad oil and heat. When medium hot, put in 6 muffins, cook 8 minutes on each side or until brown. [Okay, here I use my large electric skillet at 350 degrees F/177 C, and it takes from 2-4 min. on each side. They turn a nice golden brown. Because I can cook eight at a time it doesn't take long.) Repeat until all are cooked. To serve, split muffins horizontally with tines of a fork and toast.

[Note: I've added cinnamon during the dry ingredient phase, and raisins in the egg/flour phase for delicious Cinnamon-Raisin muffins. I've also added whole wheat and soaked wheat berries. Use your imagination. Make the muffins you crave!]
-------------------------

Well, that didn't take long.

Now I think I need to make some more. Since my oven croaked on Sunday, this is the perfect thing to bake!

Enjoy!

Facebook

I succumbed. Invited to Facebook, I joined. Hesitantly, nervously, fear and trepidation.

I made a Profile. Friend options appeared. Eleven 'Friends' right off the bat, even with tight privacy controls and pickiness.

I've Chatted with my sister. I've posted to others' Walls, commented on their Comments, looked at Photos of people I normally don't communicate with - my, have their children grown - time marches on and away. My high school/college past has pretty much stayed there, in the past. With exceptions, of course.

Amazing to me how, naturally marching in-step with time, physical aging has grabbed ahold of these once teenage associates of mine. I shouldn't be amazed. Seriously, I have a mirror. But I remember full heads of hair, round, mischievous eyes, straight, square-shouldered energetic bodies. Who are these old people looking out at me? Gray-haired, bald, 'mom' hairstyles, cookie-cutter middle-aged people who look like....well, parents and grandparents? Which is what they are. Which is what we are. But I don't feel the way these familiar faces look. Shocked me. It's normal. I understand why decades ago my sparsely seen childhood relatives patted me on the head while exclaiming, "Look how tall she is! Why, she was only thiiiis big last time I saw her."

Reality check.

The Facebook connection with a favorite high school friend and a beloved college friend is nice. We've always sent Christmas cards. Efforts to get together have fallen flat for the most part. Time and distance, lifestyle and family. After the initial Facebook "How ya doing? We really should get together!" and quick catching up, well, what does one say?

It's interesting, this Facebook thing.

But this blog, your blogs, there is depth there and conversation, thoughts, dreams, humor, beauty, pain, real sharing. It feels like real life. In getting to know you through blogs I feel I've been invited to easy-chair relax with you in your living rooms, to a degree. I've met some of you face-to-face and felt like I've known you for years. Blogs give me a much-desired sense of slowly simmering community full of surprising tastes and textures, an enriched, intricate belonging. Family.

Facebook feels like fast food, or like watching commercials or those entertainment magazine shows on t.v. - fast, flashing, blabby, shallow, annoying. And random. So random.

Yet, I visit Facebook regularly. Curious, you see. And I am sincerely interested in my 'Friends'.

I'll give it more time.

Who knows what goodies may be shaken out of this tree.

Assessment

Nearly a year ago I read a book. It changed my life, my family's life. I wrote this. The birth of a new lifestyle, a new blog, and new perspective on food.

Today I dedicated myself to reading the book again. A refresher is in order. While the family and I have stayed true to our new understanding of food there is a certain drooping in enthusiasm. So, look again.

In the spirit of assessment I am reviewing all that has occurred this past almost-year.

First, we have not darkened the door or drive-up window of a fast food establishment since the book arrived in our mailbox. No kidding. The important thing to note is that none of us want to. (Now wait a minute, I think Tom said one day he forgot to take his lunch and accepted an offer from a co-worker to have 2 fast food tacos bought for him. He said they were disgusting and he couldn't finish them, things he had until last February eaten regularly. Good test.)

Second, we've drastically reduced our consumption of processed foods and have begun buying ingredients at the store instead of mixes, pre-made soups or frozen entrees, even potato chips, crackers, cookies, and bakery items. While I'd like to say we've eliminated them I still like the convenience of Prego spaghetti sauce when I'm in a hurry, fresh and dried pasta, canned tomato paste and sauce, and organic boxed stocks when I don't have time to thaw my own. Stuff like that. Oh, and Breyers ice cream now and then, gotta have it.

Third, we consume only hormone-free whole dairy products, no low-fat or no-fat. And we eat organic, grass-fed meat.

While there are many more changes those three are the most dramatic for us. All voluntary, these changes were welcomed at the time and are still so. We plan to live this way until we die, God willing.

Results include the loss of weight, some of us twenty pounds, without really trying. We have more energy to move which helped with the weight loss, I'm sure, not to mention the change to whole foods which taste good and quickly fill us up.

Tom's doctor had been after him for years to take drugs for his cholesterol. I, being nervous about the side-effects of such drugs, had urged Tom to resist by showing him studies and reports about the drugs and about better eating habits. All it took was our corporate understanding and the choosing of delicious, whole, natural food for Tom to find satisfaction in meals and thus forget about the edible food-like substances he'd graze on in-between. His cholesterol is now 'normal', no drugs.

Energy is higher all around, moods are more stable, skin is clearer, enthusiasm abounds, self-confidence replaces introversion, and less time is spent on the computer or playing video games.

Yada, yada, yada.

It's been an interesting year.

I'm going to put all the books that I've been reading lately on the bottom shelf of my night-stand. Michael Pollan's book will be the sole top-of-the-table book until I finish it again.

I've been taking good things for granted.

Need some reminding.

Spring is on the way. And I intend to meet it, greet it, hug it, follow it, and let it work for me even as I enjoy all the burstings of life it shares.

Enough

Negativity, thou art everywhere.

And I'm sick of it.

Seems like I have a log jam of everyone else's problems stuffed inside my body.

Feel like a giant, grumpy teddy bear who's stuffing is sticking out.

Out my ears.

Out my eyes.

Out my belly button.

Am I processing too slowly?

Are too many people depending on me instead of themselves?

Am I not saying 'No' enough? Sternly enough? Clearly enough?

Too controlling. Micro-managing.

These are my problems.

I let stuff in. It should bounce off and return to sender.

I'll work on it.

But right now? I want ice cream. Chocolate chip ice cream.

Momentary escape.

Monday Morning - Page Seventy-Seven

"Only those people whom we know and who create problems for us really provide us with a good opportunity to practice tolerance and patience." ~~ The Dalai Lama's Book of Wisdom

If you are reading this post, know that the quote does not refer to you. It's about that certain long- distance someone who, try as we may, will not exit our lives nor take any steps to tone down their sniping, grudging, or subterfuge.

Yesterday was a glorious day of sunshine, friends, Super Bowl fun, and evening family relaxation. Early in the morning we decisively - mentally - booted this person from entering our home via our conversation or very thoughts. "Out you go!" Our mindful reprieve freed us to fully give our best to those we love, who bring happiness to our home.

Relaxing though the Sunday be, the week, however, was much different. This quote with its positive wisdom has come at a good time, the beginning of a new week, hopefully void of said negativity or on the other hand, full of opportunities to practice tolerance and patience.

I'm hoping for peace.

Pray for me.

Wink.

English Muffin Bread

Because there was interest in my other blog's comment forum for English Muffin Bread, I thought I'd share this recipe, another of Mom's favorites. She made this more than the muffins. It's ridiculously easy. One of those No-Fail recipes from a few generations past.

First, the photos so you can see what I'm talking about.



It makes two big loaves, taller if you use narrower pans than I did.



Beautiful texture.



It toasts up delightfully chewy with a crunchy crust.

Here's the recipe:

5-1/2 to 6 cups all-purpose flour
2 pkgs. active dry yeast
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. baking soda
2 cups milk
1/2 cup water
Cornmeal

Combine 3 cups flour, yeast, sugar, salt, and soda in mixing bowl. Heat liquids until very warm (120 - 130 degrees F. - I do this in the microwave). Add liquids to dry mixture; beat well. Stir in enough more flour to make a stiff batter. Spoon into two 8-1/2 x 4-1/2 inch pans that have been greased and sprinkled with cornmeal. Cover with cloth towel; let rise in warm place for 45 min. Bake at 400 degrees F. for 25 min. Remove from pans immediately and cool.

Enjoy!