bliss: towards a delicious life

wedded bliss: carrot cupcakes, take one

2012-01-02T17:48:00.000-06:00

This morning, as I lay under the layers of warm covers and stretched my sleep-cramped limbs, I counted on my fingers. Six.

"Six months!"

Gregg laughed, knowingly.

"We only have six months! We'd better start planning!"

In our defense—and with many thanks to my mom—many plans are already set in motion. Venue? Check. Caterer? Check. Royal Restroom? Check. Wedding gown? Check. Bride's Attendants notified? Check. Groom's wedding band? Check.

I will spare you the list of pending tasks, except for the most delicious one.

My biggest DIY project is to bake my own wedding cupcakes, a true labor of love that I couldn't be more excited about. We've determined that there should be at least two cupcakes per guest, and we want a variety of four or five flavors. Now begins the arduous task of selecting the best recipes.

Yesterday, I began with carrot, at Gregg's request. I made the recipe from Smitten Kitchen, with a few tweaks: half whole wheat flour, brown sugar instead of white sugar, chopped candied ginger in lieu of ground, and a mixture of toasted pecans and walnuts. I also played with decorative toppings, though I did not play with my frosting technique. I'll save that for another chilly winter day.

The verdict? Gregg loves these cupcakes for their moistness and flavor. I love the flavor but would like a little less moisture, which is always tricky in a carrot cake. I'm going to try my mom's stand-by recipe next, with the spice combinations from Smitten's recipe.

daily bliss: happy holidays!

2011-12-23T12:25:00.000-06:00

We're happy holidays folks in our household, not because we hate Christmas and everything it stands for—we both grew up celebrating Christmas at home and at church—but because we have a wide and varied circle of friends who celebrate the range of early winter holidays, and we want to include them. We want the transition between the old and new, the days of dwindling light and growing darkness, to be filled with warmth and love. And, in our minds, that's what all of the holidays do. (save Festivus, but that's a whole other post).

On the solstice, which was also the second day of Hanukah, I made latkes, using the recipe from the red tome of awesomeness otherwise known as the New York Times Cookbook. I riffed a little on the recipe, adding finely chopped rosemary to the batter, and using regular flour (having neither potato flour nor matzo meal). I fried them in less oil than called for, and used a mixture of olive and canola.

In lieu of the traditional applesauce, I made a chunky pear sauce, infused with vanilla bean and topped with a hint of cinnamon sugar.

The latkes were tender inside and crisp outside. The pears were edging on sweetness and fragrant. The sour cream, which these two dairy lovers couldn't resist, was tangy.

As we ate next to our Christmas tree and observed the crystalline night sky, we felt warmth, and most of all, love.

Wishing you and yours the happiest of holidays!

twd: bittersweet brownies

2011-11-15T22:39:00.001-06:00

Bittersweet...

Coming back to the ritual of TWD baking in the last weeks of the journey...

The last few golden leaves shimmying and clinging to near-bare branches...

Friends close yet distant...

A semester two-thirds completed...

Saying goodbye to friends who are embarking on new, exciting paths...

Bittersweet...

Like most of life, sadness and happiness intertwined. Longing and fulfillment coexisting.

Bittersweet...
My favorite kind of chocolate, and my favorite kind of brownie.

Leslie from Lethally Delicious selected this week's recipe, which I had made before, but made again on Sunday. While I'm still partially to the fudginess of cocoa brownies, I love the depth and richness and, yes, of course, the bittersweetness of these brownies, not to mention the ease of preparation (one bowl, one baking pan).

twd: depths-of-fall butternut squash pie

2011-11-08T21:20:00.001-06:00

As of last Friday, I'm on a facebook hiatus. I had several low days last week, and I realized that part of my blues (besides the encroaching winter and shortened daylight hours) was at once a disconnect from the ones--and hobbies--I so love, and a sense of hyper-connection. That's to say that my time connected to virtual worlds seemed to be taking me away from the pleasures and slower pace of real life. And so, I posted a semi-dramatic status to announce my intent, and logged out.

Since then, my days have been a bit more reflective and contemplative, with a greater appreciation for sustained thought and activity. I believe the studies that show how technology, with its clickability and fast pace of ever changing stimuli, is changing the way we think. I know it has worked its (evil) magic on my brain. And, so, I'm retraining my brain--with long novels (reading and writing) and projects to be started and completed in one continuous unit of time.

Activities like baking, especially for Tuesdays with Dorie, the baking group I joined years ago, and abandoned this summer, called to me. My mom is a faithful reader of other TWD bloggers and she told me the group was poised to finish the book at the end of the year. I clicked over to the TWD website and decided to start baking along, again.

This week, I selected the Depths-of-Fall Butternut Squash Pie chosen by Valerie of Une Gamine dans la Cuisine based on my ingredients at hand--frozen roasted squash, one organic pear, dried cranberries, and the remains of last year's Alabama pecans found in the depths of my mom's freezer.

I used a Martha Stewart pâte briseé recipe, which rolled out beautifully.

I diced (pear) and chopped (butternut squash); I infused (cranberries in bourbon) and roasted (pecans). I sprinkled (cinnamon) and grated (nutmeg) and zested (orange). And the filling looked like a fine stuffing or culinary confetti.

I spooned the filling into my diminutive pie tin.

I draped the top crust on, crimped the edges, brushed the top with water, and sprinkled with my favorite hot pink sanding sugar.

With mugs of black vanilla tea in hand, Gregg and I sampled the pie.

Interesting, different, and texturally unique, the pie intrigues me. I'm not a fan of pumpkin pie, so I was concerned about this pie, but the various fillings and cinnamon-centric spicing keep it from veering too heavily into pumpkin territory. The orange flavor (from zest + juice) was a bit too pronounced for my taste, and I would have liked a touch more sweetness. However, the pie ages and mellows well, and I enjoyed my second piece, eaten two days later, even more than the first.

Mostly, I enjoyed the mindful creation of the pie, and the expanse of time on a long Sunday afternoon, free of digital distractions, to refocus on myself and my favorite pastimes.

daily bliss: sailing away

2011-10-10T21:54:00.002-05:00

The docks creak as the boat pulls away, easing into the harbor. I'm sleepy awake—a short night's slumber, an early morning, two non-drowsy Dramamine—and I feel a little woozy.

Around me, fellow passengers eat breakfast from trays and the air smells smoky sweet, essence of bacon and maple syrup. Families file outside to watch as we glide into the open sweet water sea of Lake Michigan. People dot the breakwater and piers, waving to the big ship as it cruises west for the last time this season.

The Michigan dunes are impressionistic autumnal. The lake rolls with small waves, and the ship lumbers along, at a slow 16 miles per hour.

I am sad.

The falling leaves, the last day of sailing, both signs of the coming winter. My mom, now out of sight, driving back down the lake, farther away form me. My cell phone spins and roams, still connecting but not for long.

A group of Great Lakes Maritime Academy students gather in the lounge downstairs, and a young man with piercing eyes stares my way.

I sit in the upper aft deck, where small round tables fill an airy enclosed room. I can face forward, which is west, which is the direction of my chosen home, where my fiance waits for me.

A toddler with long blond hair and a pink sweatshirt grapples with a glittery Rubik cube. She sits on her grandma's lap; her mom types a college paper on her laptop, a classic composition notebook at her side.

The boat is full.

A stack of papers fills my clipboard and my purple pen is uncapped and poised to critique my students' words.

Old people, young people sport sea bands to prevent motion sickness, and drink coffee. The ruffle of cards being shuffled, and the banter of multi-person games surround me.

My cell phone sits next to me, as I hope to catch the moment when we slip between time zones. The phone is confused, switching back and forth, and time eludes me.

Our here in the middle of the lake, I am somewhere and nowhere. I am home.

The boat bustles with conversation and activity. A dedicated stream of people perambulates the outdoor deck, eyes shining in the bright morning sun, hair winging back in the light breeze. My cell signal is lost, and I settle in, deeper, into myself.

The 410 foot ship plies the water, frothing the dark aquamarine depths into a deep V and enfolding whirls. One hour away from docking, and the shore of Wisconsin begins to rise on the horizon, shadowy and ill-defined.

A father and young daughter eat soft pretzels. A Grandma walks briskly around the boat. On the fore deck, books claim chaise lounges and, inexplicably, a Canadian flag flutters from the bow.

Back in the aft lounge, a brother cajoles his sister to smile for the camera, "Bree! Say cheese!" while a large family eats pizza and plays cards. Behind me, a woman meticulously pores over bound lab reports.

People move, shift, pack up, and disappear into the boat, but I stay rooted, a stack of papers, now graded, a slim volume of short stories beckoning like candy.

As we glide into the harbor, I scan the shore for my neighborhood, my workplace. As we pull closer to shore, poised to back into the dock, I circle around to the port side and scan the shore for a familiar figure, tall, dressed in short sleeves and jeans, lifting a Nikon, and walking with a gait I recognize from a distance.

The captain blows the horn a few extra times, and the dock replies. Soon, she will depart for one more trip across the Lake and then settle in for winter.

I gather my bags, walk down the stairs, head into the bright sun, and a warm hug.

daily bliss: late summer, meet early fall

2011-09-09T17:46:00.001-05:00

Warm sunshine hits my bare shoulders, and the lake sparkles with caribbean hues. At the farmers' market, huge zucchini and cucumbers share table space with hard shelled butternut squashes and crisp apples. The sun sets earlier everyday, and darkness brings chilliness. It's almost time to put the cotton blanket back on the bed, and to haul out the lightweight sweaters.

My days are filled with teaching, reading for class, and responding to student writing, balanced with journaling, reading for fun, watching football, and trolling wedding sites for inspiration.

I love these bridge seasons of summer to fall, and spring to summer, when the best aspects of each season balance each other.

Like returning to the classroom, and dreaming of the future.

daily bliss: not a princess but a woman

2011-08-24T16:02:00.000-05:00

this is not my dress. this is a BIG dress. a heavy dress.

Highstepping into a big, ballgown, strapless wedding dress, I tried not to look too closely in the mirror until I was zipped and clipped in.

Body image issues, bridal style.

Magnified by layers of tulle or disguised under heavy lace.

My inaugural wedding dress shopping experience left me feeling frustrated with this body of mine, and wondering about what kind of dress would feel right.

I am not a princess.

I do not want to utter that stock bridal phrase, "I feel like a princess," at any time during this betrothal-wedding process.

I want to recognize myself in the mirror, whether clad in lace or tulle or denim or cotton.

I left the shop, glad for the fun outing with two of my attendants/best friends, Mom, and Grandma, but unsatisfied with the dresses themselves.

On Monday, back in Wisconsin, I drove diagonally across the state to Premiere Couture, a dress boutique on one of my favorite streets in Madison. Once I walked into the shop, I felt hopeful.

Laura selected several dresses for me based on my descriptions of what I wanted. The dresses were light, elegant, bridal, and beautiful. No overwhelming tulle or heavy laces. Just pretty gowns.

The first one I tried on looked and felt...like me only...bridal. I loved it.

While not all the dresses felt like me, they all felt sophisticated and bridal and relevant. The collection at Premiere Couture stands out; as Laura said, they have dresses for women. (not princesses, I thought).

Readers, I bought the first dress I tried here and I love it. I can't describe it just yet, but I can tell you that I feel absolutely beautiful, elegant, romantic, and absolutely accepting of my body as it is right now in this dress. And that is amazing.

Now, if I can just find some back-to-school clothes that elicit that same feeling:)

daily bliss: betrothal

2011-08-10T12:27:00.001-05:00

It's all I have to bring today –

This, and my heart beside –
This, and my heart, and all the fields –
And all the meadows wide –
Be sure you count – should I forget
Some one the sum could tell –
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.

Emily Dickinson, #26

"Are you awake?" Gregg whispered.

"Mmm," I mumbled.

"Wanna go see the sunrise?"

"Okay." I looked at the clock: 5:15 am. I rolled out of bed, twisted my hair up in a clip, pulled on my favorite pink Patagonia shirt, and grabbed my glasses, camera, and phone.

By 5:30, we were driving the two minute route down to sunburn beach (called so in memory of our fourth date when we got lost in conversation and forgot to reapply sunscreen). The light was dim, an almost colorless pastel, with blue-grey clouds popping over the lake.

"I think it's going to be good," Gregg said, an undercurrent of doubt in his words.

"It won't rise until 5:45, according to the weather channel," I added, ever optimistic.

We waited, cameras poised, until we saw a hot pink ball slip slowly above the horizon, huge and magnificent. It plied its way through the low lying clouds and ascended, turning golden the higher it rose.

I sat on a big white boulder, wrapped in a beach towel from Gregg's car. I was half asleep, waiting to go home and snuggle back into bed and delicious sleep.

Gregg reached for my hand and pulled me up. We walked along the shore, and then he led me into the water. It was right on the edge of chilly and warm, still, lapping our calves.

"In light of our conversation last night..." Gregg started and I looked confused, as he began to lower one knee into the water. (last night's conversation about weddings and marriage and such was provoked by the film Sweet Home Alabama, which I love, and which was on cable TV).

I looked at him with some degree of disbelief, which I come by naturally, readers, since he has assumed this position at least twice before to ask me questions as awesome as "Will you write a monthly food column with me?" and as mundane as "will you go to the movies with me?"

He reached in his pocket, and suddenly he was holding a shiny, shimmery, sparkly ring that looked an awful lot like the one I tried on in Douglas, Michigan a few weeks ago.

Neither of us can remember his exact words, filled with love and the desire to share the rest of our lifetimes together, but we both remember the all important question: will you marry me?

"Yes, of course!" I replied, stunned and utterly surprised and all of the sudden waking up from my half-sleep. This is really happening! I can't believe this is really happening!

Gregg slid the ring on my finger and I gazed at him in wonder as I giggled and said silly things like "We're engaged!" and "You're my fiancé!"

We reveled in the moment, alone on the beach, feeling that our lives were both different and the same all at once. We drove home and waited a little while to call our parents. I brewed coffee, which Gregg actually drank (he has a policy that he generally only drinks straight-up coffee on holidays. I noted that this was definitely a special day, if not technically a holiday).

As we woke up, we decided to treat ourselves to a lovely, long brunch at the American Club in Kohler, Wisconsin, something we've also put in the "special occasion only" category. On our drive to the restaurant, I called more family and friends to share the news. "I'm engaged!" "We're engaged!" The words formed in my mouth as they took shape in my head. I stared at my finger, at this gorgeous, sparkly vintage 1920's ring from the town where I was born, and loved the symbolism on so many layers. What an amazing gift from my best friend, who I now call fiancé and will (relatively) soon call husband (we're working on dates and plans).

I don't have a ring to offer him (though an engagement gift is in the works), so for today I offer up the Emily Dickinson poem that starts this post. I share myself, I share the world, I share forever. I love you, Gregg.

100 words: Myth

2011-07-27T11:09:00.001-05:00

As serendipity would have it, this week's prompt, myth, comes from Adrienne Rich's poem "Diving Into the Wreck," a poem that haunted me last week. In fact, my final project for my Shipwreck workshop integrated the poem. And, so, here is a 100 word imagining of a wreck becoming myth.

When the Gales of November Come Early

A cloudy morning, a forceful gale, an icy drizzle. She wraps her scarf tight around her neck and head, only her eyes exposed, and steps up the ladder to the main deck. Gripping the railing, she feels the wooden schooner heave and sway. Waves splash over the sides, coating the deck with water that will soon freeze. She’s been here before—not on this ship, but on the steamer New Orleans when she collided with the William Linn on Lake Huron. They were rescued before the ship wrecked. This time, she envisions a dark, watery grave. She descends into myth.

100 Words is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Velvet Verbosity. Check out the prompt and read the other entries here.

daily bliss: rooted

2011-07-12T11:23:00.000-05:00

When I was 17, I left home for college, with most of my worldly possessions tucked into my parents' silver Surburban. From that moment, I never truly lived at home again, beside summers home from college and one six-week stint when I moved back to the Midwest after my first year out of graduate school.

Dorm rooms shifted into apartments and duplexes, and finally, half of a house I claim as my own home, and share with my love.

My heart still tends toward home, to that patch of 10 acres nestled near Lake Michigan and dotted with blueberry bushes and pine trees and the house that my Dad built and my Mom made home.

Several times a year I go home, driving around the Lake, through Chicago, across four states. I go back to the old country neighborhood with the elementary school across the street and long driveways obscuring homes in the summertime. I drive past the house where my great-grandma lived, now run down with too many vehicles in the yard. I wonder if the buttercups still dot the back yard in summer, and if the wild blueberry bushes still stand on the back corner of the lawn.

I round the corner from my parents' house and drive a half mile to my Grandparents' house, where tractors sit in the pole barn and a old blueberry picker awaits the harvest. I remember the greenhouses filled with potted plants, now replaced with Grandma's big garden.

Memories of summer wash over me--sunshine and berries and stories and ice cream and heat and frustration and longing to be somewhere else, in a story, to be someone else, an olympic gymnast or nineteenth-century maiden.

Lake. Berries. Family. School. Books.

My legacy, my home.

***
On July 1, 2011, two days shy of his 92nd birthday, my Grandpa died.

Across the lake, I heard the news and longed to be home, in the place where this news, this loss would be real.

***
Lake:

Gregg and I sailed on the midnight crossing of the S.S. Badger, swaying to the rocky rhythms of the lake, curled onto benches in a fitful sleep.

The next day, my brother L and his girlfriend K, Gregg and I, headed to the local beach where L and I spent many hours as kids. We walked the shores, tested the water, talked, and laughed, as the familiar landscape and constant waves soothed our souls.

***
Berries:

July marks the beginning of blueberry season, and from the 4th of July on, talk revolves around when to start picking. My family grows two varieties: bluecrop, an earlier, flavorful, and large berry enjoyed fresh; and jersey, a later, smaller, and less flavorful variety often used in processing. A few outlier bushes of earlier varieties stand in the corner of one field, and Grandpa would pick a handful on his birthday and enjoy the first berries of the summer. My uncle visited the bushes on the morning of Grandpa's funeral, and tossed the berries into his grave.

***
Family:

My parents hail from neighboring counties; I grew up in the same neighborhood that my Dad did, and my Mom's hometown, and where my maternal grandparents live, is a short 20 minute drive South. Aunts and Uncles on both sides live in the two county area. My generation has drifted beyond the borders of the counties, the state.

Coming home means being immersed in family, in tradition, in history, in old patterns, and familiar rituals.

Trips to the beach, Saturday mornings at the farmers' market, afternoons on the porch, dinner at Marro's, ice cream at Captain Sundae.

Family jokes and stories.

Rivalries and old wounds.

Making room for new family members.

Allowing the bonds to help us feel, grieve, mourn, and heal.

***
School:

At the visitation, we stood in an airy, sun filled atrium of my grandparents' church, awaiting visitors.

I looked over and saw my two favorite elementary school teachers and started crying...

...I was a school girl par excellance. I love(d) school, books, learning. Knowledge was my birthright; books enlivened my imagination.

Mrs. Mulder, my first grade teacher, allowed me to create my own reading group (designated pink) and created a classroom where learning happened naturally, and students could escape to Australia (see Judith Viorst's Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day).

Mr. Kraii, my fifth grade teacher, read to us from The Great Brain and integrated softball games into our curriculum. He helped me manage some big adjustments (a new baby brother, a new last name), and prepared us for middle school.

As I hugged and chatted with these two teachers, I felt the connection of education, of the power of this work that they did and I now do to change lives and build on the strong family foundation to give young children, young adults, or returning students the confidence and tools to soar, to excel, to be everything they can be.

***
Books:

After the family bonding, after the visitation, after the funeral (complete with full military ceremony and ice cream bar), after the final graveside service, Gregg and I boarded the boat and left my Michigan home for our Wisconsin home.

The next morning, I turned to my bookshelves--the poetry section--and selected some verses to read, to give me that comfort I craved in adapting to this loss.

to live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

Mary Oliver, from "In Blackwater Woods"

***
Home:

To be rooted and grounded in a place and a past, and then to live and create and love and follow that bliss to new homes. To understand that home is many places--a rural Michigan neighborhood, a great lake, the shape of a poem, an embrace, a fresh blueberry pie, a classroom, a cloudy Tuesday morning.

daily bliss: a weekend in Madison

2011-06-28T15:22:00.000-05:00

Last week, I had the pleasure of dining in Madison, Wisconsin all week long. This first installment chronicles the weekend that started my adventure, a short 36 hours that Gregg and I spent together, and with friends.

We arrived on Saturday morning, ready to hit the Capitol Square and the Dane County Farmers' Market. We joined the slow, lurching crowd and marveled at early summer produce, amazing plants, pretty peonies, and hearty breads. We paused on a street corner to hydrate with bottled water, and watched a small crowd of pro-Walker supporters get overshadowed by a group of brazen, nude bicyclists. After stocking up on Cress Springs Bakery bread, we left the throng and headed to Graze for a light brunch. Gregg ordered the egg special, which included a dollop of the most delicious hashbrowns we've ever eaten, while I ordered the seasonal pancakes topped with compound butter, strawberry compote, and maple syrup.

That evening, we spent time with friends C and C!, who shared some of their favorite eateries with us: dinner at Lao Laan-Xang, fruity drinks at Jolly Bob's, and a glass of wine at the Weary Traveler, all on the currently deconstructed Willy Street.

I'm a fan of southeast Asian cuisine, and I was eager to distinguish the differences between Laotian and Thai cuisine. I found the flavors similar, and perhaps the biggest difference was the combination of vegetables in the curries. I ordered the famous squash curry with tofu, spiced at level three...a generous three. A mouth and back of the throat sizzling three. Two Singha beers tampered the flames.

A fruity concoction at nearby Jolly Bob's extinguished the lingering flames. My drink--the Seafoam--looked like tropical waters, and tasted of pineapple and amaretto. We talked of vacation and dreamed of warmer climes before heading down the street to our next stop.

The Weary Traveler was an early meeting place for the Leftist Cocktail Party, a Madison based group who gathers weekly in solidarity during these troublesome times in Wisconsin. While I've missed the actual parties, I attend vicariously via facebook, and was excited to see one of their favorite hangouts. I enjoyed a glass of pinot noir and the dim, wooden, eclectic ambience.

The next morning, we joined our friends for a brunch blowout at Sardine, a French inspired bistro. Champagne cocktails, bloody marys, and monster mimosas filled our table as we developed a strategy. Our friends suggested eating in stages, and so we (er, they) began with mussels and oysters.

The presentation of both fruits of the sea was stunning, but I choose to crunch through the airy, buttery layers of a perfect pain au chocolat.

The cool, damp morning gave way to warmth and overcast humidity as we sat outside on the patio, framed by bright flower planters, and overlooking Lake Monona. The next course arrived--a simple fines herbes and gruyére omelette, served with frites and a mixed greens salad. The omelette was pretty and delicious--the tang of tarragon tasted quintessentially Parisien. A glass of Italian rosé was the perfect accompaniment.

We hesitated only momentarily when presented with the dessert menu, which featured a layered chocolate and hazelnut creation that rivaled the layered chocolate and hazelnut creation I enjoyed in Paris last Spring. Gregg and I tried to linger over the slim rectangle of crisp nut crust and creamy ganache, sliding our forks through the thick caramel. However, within minutes the dessert was a memory and a final taste in our mouths.

After saying goodbye to our friends, we headed downtown to explore State Street and to people watch as our lunch digested. Small boutiques and large bookstores beckoned us inside, where we mostly window shopped. We sat outside at the Union Terrace at UW-Madison and drank beer (!) while watching boats sail across Lake Mendota.

We headed to the nearby Monroe Street area to shop at Trader Joe's, relax over Italian sodas at Barriques, and then finally, eat dinner at Pasqual's. As our burritos and tacos disappeared, I started to feel sad that our weekend together was over. Gregg was heading home while I was staying in Madison for a week of workshops. I longed to hop in the car with him and chat about our adventures on the drive home, but alas, I checked into my hotel room and began preparing for the week ahead...

daily bliss: vegan week: day five and beyond: the ethical omnivore

2011-06-14T11:15:00.000-05:00

Day five, my last day of vegan (mini) week, began with my usual oatmeal breakfast, my morning coffee laced with So Delicious Coconut Milk Creamer. It was, to quote a slogan on a local beer, "not bad."

After a morning writing, wrapped up in a fleece blanket against the damp chill, I decided to drive to Sheboygan for lunch at one of my favorite restaurants, Field to Fork. I had already settled on the hummus and giardinera as a suitable vegan lunch, but when I arrived I saw that minestrone was one of the soup selections.

Their soup is thick, hearty, and not tomatoey. Chunks of root vegetables and seasonal-ish squashes intermingle with beans and hearty greens. I ordered a bowl, and was surprised when it arrived garnished with a skiff of cheese. I've ordered this soup so many times, always reassured of its vegetarianness, and clearly not mindful of the cheese.

I pushed the cheese to the side of the bowl, but it was melting into the soup anyway, a distinctive tang and sweet saltiness.

Oh, it was delicious.

Later that evening, Gregg and I headed to a graduation party, where we huddled outside, hands wrapped around too-cold soda cans, trying to stay warm in the unseasonable cold. We wandered into the garage (all the best Wisconsin parties include a garage) to fill our plates. Well, Gregg filled his plate with a variety of meat dishes kept warm in Nesco roasters (another ubiquitous Wisconsin party favorite), while I spooned some salsa and grabbed a handful of corn chips. Our friend T proudly told me his taco dip was vegetarian and even included a layer of beans. It looked delicious: cool, creamy, and crisp. Gregg explained that I was dairy free this week, and we walked back outside to shiver and munch.

Restaurants and social situations challenge our dietary lifestyles. While some vegetarians and vegans choose to overtly share their politics in these moments, I usually try to eat inconspicuously. At moments like this--the restaurant, the grad party--part of me longs for a more conventional dietary lifestyle that doesn't complicate social relations.

I realized during my vegan experiment how relatively easy it is to eat and socialize as a vegetarian--how friends make subtle modifications to foods, or how many side dishes and party foods are vegetarian friendly. Living vegan is much harder. Eggs, butter, milk, and/or cheese linger in unsuspecting foods. Especially in Wisconsin, these items are abundant on buffet tables and menus.

On Sunday, Gregg and I, along with his parents, headed to our county's annual celebration of Dairy Month: Breakfast on the Farm. This breakfast couldn't be a starker contrast to my short week of plant-based eating. Scrambled eggs dotted with onions and ham, glued together with cheese; cinnamon bread spread with butter; donut holes; link sausage; handfuls of cheese curds, string cheese, and cheddar cubes; milk; and ice cream make this an absolute dairypalooza.

We noshed our full plates under a big tent, listening to polka music and visiting with friends and neighbors. This year I particularly appreciated the squeaky creaminess of cheese curds.

After our large, generous, non-plant based breakfast, we toured the farm, checking out huge farm equipment and mooing at dairy cows small and large.

I was struck by the size of the farm--800 cattle!--and the "propaganda" displayed on tables and posters. These cows eat silage that is largely corn based, as described by a large sign. And, in another information booth, a major pharmaceutical company explained the importance of antibiotics for sick cows, and mitigated worries about the drugs entering the food system.

After reading many books about modern agriculture, environmentalism, and humane treatment of animals, as well as the effects antibiotics have had on our ecosystem, I believe that we have harmed our animals and ecosystem in some fairly substantial ways. Cows, as ruminants, are meant to eat grass. Studies show that they need antibiotics because of their diet of corn. And, new strains of bacteria like MRSA and e. coli can be traced, in part, to the influx of antibiotics at all levels of the food chain. Bacteria are smart, mutating and resisting the drugs we create to kill them.

Scary.

Enough to make veganism seem like a feasible, safe solution.

And yet, I love dairy.

And, I love breakfast on the farm: the camaraderie, the community celebrating and supporting one its most storied and historical ways of life, and a huge economic force (our county has more cows that people).

And yet, I wish we hadn't reached this point where we alter animal diets to our timeline and our production needs. Cows become machines rather than sentient beings. If we all ate a little less animal food or animal produced food, couldn't we preserve the animals' more natural ways of life? Frolicking in the sun, nibbling grass, and roaming pastures rather than bedding in sand, eating mixed silage, and standing bracketed indoors?

I recognize that many people disagree with me and question the logic of my beliefs. I don't want to proselytize, but I do want people--including myself--to have as much information as possible and then make an educated, informed, ethics based decision on what to eat. Balancing ethics and tastes is perhaps one of the most difficult struggles we face. My mini-week of plant-based eating showed me the conflicting desires between preserving another creature's way of life and satisfying my omnivorous tastes.

For now, I will continue to eat dairy and eggs, but I will also continue to support alternate foodways, seeking out organic, humanely sourced milk, eggs, and cheeses, recognizing that this is, for me, a necessity, for which I will pay higher costs. (and that touches on another tangent about the cost of such foods and the critique that such foods are the provenance of the "wealthy." Despite what you may have heard about professor salaries, I am not wealthy, but I do try to spend my values, to put my money where my values and ethics are, recognizing yet again that not everyone has this capability.)

Thanks to my readers for following along and sharing thoughtful comments that supported and challenged me throughout my mini-week.

And thanks to Gregg, who ate vegan dinners with me all week long:)

daily bliss: vegan week: day four: chocolatey goodness and competing ethics

2011-06-10T10:50:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was an easy, tasty vegan day. For breakfast, I ate my standard steel cut oats with nuts and dried fruit and brown sugar and soy milk, drank orange juice, and sipped a strong chai spice tea spiked with sugar and vanilla soy.

Lunch included leftovers from Monday night and a toasted whole wheat pita.

I met my friend B for coffee at Starbucks and sprang for a grand soy caramel macchiato ($4.99! woah!). Later, I snacked on my usual hummus plate.

After a trip to the grocery store for So Delicious coconut milk creamer per reader suggestions, as well as a half gallon of organic valley skim milk for Saturday and beyond, as well as a bottle of Starborough Sauvignon Blanc (a beveragetastic trip!), I drove to Wilfert Farms to purchase three pounds of asparagus. The farm is just north of town and the drive is pretty, past new mcmansions and old farmhouses.

Last night I cooked a veggie stir fry—asparagus, broccoli, carrots, vidalia onion, ginger, and garlic—with baked tofu and crushed cashews. My standard glaze of tamari, rice vinegar, orange juice, brown sugar, toasted spicy sesame oil, and red pepper flakes coated the veggies and draped the whole wheat cappellini I served with the stir fry.

And, since baking is one of my modes of bliss, I decided to bake vegan cookies: chewy chocolate chocolate chip cookies from Veganomicon, or, online, the Post Punk Kitchen. I'm out of flax seed, so I made them without. I used Valrhona cocoa powder, and a variety of Ghiradelli chocolate chips—the baking discs and the mini chips that I can find only at the outlet store (a must-stop on every trip around the great lake!). If I had more time and patience I would've toasted the walnuts.

I was chatting with my Mom (on the phone, alas) as I portioned out the cookie dough and laughed as I ate raw cookie dough. We always debate the wisdom of eating raw cookie dough, what with the danger of salmonella in raw eggs. The only danger now would be tiny insects in the flour. I tried not to think about the possibility of this non-vegan addition:)

The cookie dough was not as stiff as I thought it would be, and I worried that the cookies would spread all over the sheet. To my relief, the cookies baked up tall and firm. Gregg thought they looked weird, but with one bite his reservations were gone.

Deep, rich, decadent...these cookies defy vegan stereotypes. The premium chocolate adds so much flavor that I didn't miss the distinctive tang of butter (I used organic canola oil in lieu of my preferred baking fat). I will definitely bake these cookies again and share with friends and family.

These cookies challenge the idea that plant-based foods cannot provide satiating bliss. So does an avocado. A handful of pistachios. A perfect roasted and brewed cup of coffee.

And this is an important lesson, where taste and ethics collide. So often people respond to my vegetarianism with statements like, "I could never give up meat. It tastes too good."

After 13 years as a vegetarian, that statement/sentiment can be difficult to understand (except for bacon;)), especially coming from those who seem to espouse a vegetarian ethic, but do not commit to the lifestyle. However, this week has taught me humility and compassion to those who utter such words, since I feel the same way about milk and the pantheon of cheeses and ice creams and sour cream and buttermilk and butter. Oh, and butter.

Taste and ethics collide. Or, I should say, competing ethics: an ethics of bliss, expansion, and mindful deliciousness vs. an ethics of mindfulness and ahimsa (the Buddhist concept of doing no harm). Can these be reconciled? Is it enough to buy dairy and eggs from local producers? From certified organic, humane companies? Does supporting these local friends and farmers and regional cooperatives challenge the industrial complex that mass produces dairy and eggs with nary a thought about the cows and chickens as sentient beings? Is it enough that the cows and chickens that produced my dairy and eggs are "happy"?!?

daily bliss: vegan week: day three: moment of truth

2011-06-09T21:51:00.000-05:00

Day three began with a question: cafe au lait, or cafe au soy?

Whichever would I choose?!?

***
I conceptualized the vegan week experiment a few weeks ago, and shared my idea with my friend N. We're both vegetarians and yoga dorks, and we were curious about eating detox programs or plans, and I told her my tentative plan.

After a semester, nay, an academic year of stress, and laxity about my healthy habits, I needed to do something more dramatic than simply eating less and exercising more in order to shake up my system.

I settled on veganism rather than the more hard core (and, in my mind, unhealthy) juice fast, or the more challenging all whole, unprocessed foods paths. I've read about the dairy and egg industries enough to know that they're both problematic. I've read about the side effects of dairy foods--and wondered how my allergies (trees, grass, pollen, certain raw fruits) might react to no dairy. I wanted to know how much more difficult it would be to live and eat vegan rather than vegetarian.

The fact that I was ready to quit after two days speaks volumes--for me, this was a difficult leap.

With supportive comments on this blog and the various social networks I'm part of, as well as the inner over-achiever cheerleading loudly, I did not give in.

I went to Starbucks.

On Wednesday mornings, my favorite yoga teacher leads a power yoga class that challenges me...and also keeps me from eating a full breakfast beforehand. On occasion, I've gone to Starbucks afterwards for their perfect oatmeal (meh, but quick and tasty and healthier than most restaurant breakfast options in this town) and a latte. Yesterday I ordered a double tall soy latte, and somehow the baristas worked their corporate coffee magic, because the steamy, creamy beverage tasted blissful.

I survived the coffee test, and ate light vegan foods throughout the day, including a plate of hummus and veggies alongside a broiled smart dog for lunch, and a snack of triscuits and peanut butter once again in the afternoon.

The second test of the day was dinner. Late afternoon temperatures soared towards 90, and after an overheated walk and with a slow-to-kick-in air conditioner, I wasn't in the mood to cook. Gregg and I walked to our favorite Italian deli, where I ordered the veggie pasta salad: tri-color rotini with crisp carrots, celery, cauliflower, broccoli, red peppers, and onion in an Italian vinaigrette. Our server set down a plate of garlic bread. To eat or not? To question or not?

The irony: today I wanted to eat it, so I hoped they didn't use real butter. Every other time I eat it, I hope and pray they use butter.

I abstained.

The night was lovely--an orange sun glowed in the Western sky and the warm air was tempered with a fragrant breeze. We walked to the nicest restaurant in town for good wine and beer, and the server poured my second glass (of Vermentino) full, full, full. We walked home through damp streets and heard echoey thunder in the distance. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, I promptly went to bed.

Lessons of the day: a day of light vegan food is not enough to support several glasses of wine! Also, wine is a delicious part of any dietary plan! And, finally, being surprised by difficulty is a wonderful challenge.

daily bliss: vegan week: day two: dairy cravings

2011-06-08T14:05:00.001-05:00

Yesterday morning I made my second cafe au soy, and poured soy milk over some organic oat and honey* granola. The latter was delicious--better than milk, even; however, the former was disappointing, tasting nothing like my morning treat.

Throughout the day, I kept thinking about cafe au lait, and my craving was intense. My crabbiness was fairly strong, too. My mind oscillated between two obsessions yesterday: cafe au lait, and warm weather (we were supposedly having record heat all across Wisconsin--except for the lakeshore, which was 20-30 degrees cooler than the surrounding environs).

Still, I carried on, making a satisfying sandwich for lunch: toasted honey* sunflower seed bread with a drizzle of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, impromptu guacamole (avocado and lime juice), sabra classic hummus, red bell pepper, cucumber, and salt and pepper. Mmmmm!

Throughout the afternoon I puttered around the house, waiting for the fog to lift and the air to warm up before my afternoon walk. At 3:00 I headed out to the lake, bundled up, but thankfully stripping off my fleece jacket along the way.

Cafe au lait! Milk! Latte! echoed through my head, but I came home and ate Koeze natural peanut butter on Triscuits (try it! salty, crunchy, delicious.)

After a quick trip to the Pig (yes, we have a Piggly Wiggly in our neighborhood) for a few provisions, I set out to cook up a vegan Mexican feast. Gregg called on his way home from work. "How do you feel about strawberry margaritas? And can I just say that I want cafe au lait in the worst way!"

He's used to my non sequiturs:)

"I feel good about strawberry margaritas! And I don't see how anything could be bad with that delicious vanilla soy milk!" (he sampled some sraight up the night before, declaring it awesome, and egg nog-esque.)

Grrr. No one was going to put up with my whining about cafe au lait.

Our Mexican meal consisted of spice rubbed baked tofu (I used a mixture of chipotle powder, chili powder, and a Penzey's spice blend called Arizona dreaming); black bean dip (black beans mashed with lime juice, onion, salt, and pepper); guacamole; sauteed peppers and onions; salsa; and, for Gregg, sour cream. We folded everything into warm flour tortillas.

But the pièce de résistance was the strawberry margarita, made with lime juice, triple sec, tequila, and last night's strawberry sorbet. The drinks were thick, frosty, tangy, and absolutely refreshing. And dairy free! (duh! who sneaks dairy into a margarita?!?)

I told Gregg that I might discontinue the experiment on Wednesday morning, since the cafe au lait cravings were so strong.

I mused about obsession, addiction, and pleasure. My morning (and often afternoon) cafe au laits are more than the drink itself--though the frothy, warm, robustness hits the right notes as a day begins and an afternoon slumps. More so, there's a ritual to this drink, in the preparation: using my special pan from mom to heat the milk; grinding a handful of beans; pouring cool water into the coffeemaker; wetting the coffee filter; listening to the happy perk of the machine; smelling freshly brewed coffee; frothing the milk with a small whisk; pouring the right proportion of coffee to milk.

There's beauty in the simplicity of this ritual.

And while the steps are all the same with soy milk, the taste is different, and the drink and ritual become less about bliss and more about sacrifice.

Does this make sense, or am I, as I'm wont to do, overthinking?

*yes, I realize that honey is not vegan if one is strict about veganism. I've decided to give honey a pass in the few prepared foods I have on hand. I am not, however, adding honey to anything.*

daily bliss: vegan week: day one: got milk?

2011-06-06T21:52:00.002-05:00

Breakfast, as we know, is the most important meal of the day. It's also, for me, the hardest to veganize. My favorite morning ritual is a mug (or two) of warm, frothy cafe au lait with a spoonful of raw sugar. As I heated and frothed the vanilla soy milk this morning, I was concerned that my daily kickstarter would be unquaffable. While I won't proclaim a cafe au soy delicious, I will say that it wasn't bad. On the other hand, the vanilla soy milk tasted wonderful in a bowl of steel cut oats with brown sugar, cinnamon, dried cranberries, and pecans. Its subtle nuttiness added to the complexity of the dish and I liked it better than regular milk.

I resisted any and all nibbles until lunchtime, when I ate a portion of last night's black bean couscous salad, with a handful of blue corn chips and Salpica tomato jalapeno salsa. Two cups of hot darjeeling tea and a few almonds, dried cherries, and chocolate chips completed the meal.

For a snack, I ate Sabra classic hummus with cucumber spears, carrot sticks, and pretzels. A small glass of iced tea almost vanquished my afternoon cafe au lait cravings.

And tonight, I prepared a spiced red lentil dal, based on this recipe from the post punk kitchen--vegan foodies with a hipster sensibility and a bevy of delicious recipes (they're the same folks who penned Veganomicon). I served it over a bed of carolina aromatic rice (thanks, Mom and Dad for this treat from Charleston!) and dotted it with a few garam masala roasted chickpeas. We had a few spears of asparagus left in the fridge so I roasted those too for an informal side dish.

My final celebration was to be a strawberry sorbet--I had hopes of hitting the fruit puree with a little bubbly or a little wine, but after opening two bottles gone bad I gave up. I chilled the puree and the ice cream canister and decided to give it a go after only a few hours in the cold, to no avail. Of course having a fully frozen canister is necessary! Science prevails over impatience yet again!

A handful of dry cereal and another mug of hot tea will round out my evening, and I'll go to bed with the glow of success...

...and some dairy cravings. A slice of whole wheat toast with butter. A milky, foamy cup of chai. A nub of cheese.

I hadn't suspected this desire for dairy, and I hope it fades over the next few days.

Other than such cream and fat fantasies, day one has been delicious...and nutritious.

daily bliss: black bean couscous salad

2011-06-06T11:18:00.001-05:00

I love summer: streaming sunshine, sapphire skies, sparkling lakes, colorful blossoms, fresh produce, and more time to cook, dream, and play.

Fresh produce is still in short supply in Wisconsin--we're in the midst of asparagus season, with a smattering of rhubarb. Yet, I've been craving cold bean and grain salads. Departing from the local, seasonal mantra I usually espouse, I made this salad for Memorial Day weekend celebrations and again last night. You can adjust the recipe in size and in ingredients--add the seasonings and southwest veggies you most like. I suppose you could 'sconnie it up by adding cheese, but the clean flavors of the salad shine without hunks of cheddar.

Black Bean Couscous Salad

salad:

Combine the following ingredients into a large bowl. You can adjust the quantities according to your preferences. This salad keeps about a day or two in the refrigerator before becoming too watery.

whole wheat couscous, prepared

corn, sauteed with garlic, onion, cumin, salt, pepper, and ground chipotle powder

diced bell peppers

diced avocado

grape tomatoes, quartered

black beans, rinsed and drained

lime cilantro vinaigrette, to taste

lime cilantro vinaigrette:

Combine the following ingredients in a jar or small pitcher. I like a more vinegary dressing, so my proportions of oil to vinegar are usually 1 to 3.

olive oil

white balsamic vinegar

maple syrup, honey, or sugar, to taste

lime juice

cilantro, finely chopped

daily bliss: june is dairy, er, vegan month

2011-06-05T19:56:00.003-05:00

Eleven years ago, I ventured into vegetarianism on a whim (and inspired by a cute southern boy I went on a few dates with).

Today, I'm happily vegetarian, eating a mostly whole foods diet, and only occasionally sampling bacon and ham (my kryptonite!).

For the last year and a half, I've thought about doing a vegan experiment, going as far as purchasing a vegan cookbook, the awesome Veganomicon. And yet, I couldn't make the leap. The thought of cafe au lait transformed with soy or almond or rice milk made my heart sink. I've eaten 90% vegan some days, but never 100%.

This week I'm going to try.

Seeking a cleansing and an overall wellness realignment, I'm turning to veganism for an almost week (Monday-Saturday) to jumpstart this return to a more healthful way of life. Today, I bought soy milk for my coffee. I thought about the foods I eat regularly that I'll need to avoid--a dish of low fat yogurt at snack time, a skiff of butter on a piece of whole wheat toast, a sprinkling of parmesan on pasta or salads.

This shouldn't be too difficult, right?

Except for dairy month.

June, that halcyon month of sapphire skies and deepening green foliage also recognizes one of Wisconsin's claims to fame: dairy. Each county celebrates with a breakfast on the farm event, spotlighting a great farm and dishing up plates full of dairy goodness.

Because our breakfast on the farm is next Sunday, I'm doubtful that this vegan experiment will turn out like the vegetarian one did.

I'll bet a wedge of 10 year aged Wisconsin cheddar on it:)

daily bliss: bridesmaids

2011-05-27T13:29:00.000-05:00

Last Friday, to celebrate the end of the semester and a god-awful academic year, Gregg and I ate pizza at my favorite restaurant and then watched Bridesmaids in the theater.

Ahead of us, a row of female friends in their mid-late 40s munched popcorn and shared laughs before the movie began. Their talk had that familiar flow of light gossip and quotidian detail. I smiled, and felt sad. I missed my female friends.

The movie began, and I was sucked into the story until it ended--minus one disgusting scene of physical comedy and bodily eruptions. The film hits so many notes spot-on--the lethargy of hitting almost rock bottom (and then hitting said bottom), the act of putting on a happy, supportive face when someone you love is getting all that you don't have, the competition between women for friends and closeness and status, and the sadness of moving on different tracks than your once closest friends.

When we left the theater, I thought of a column my friend N had written, in which she described the particular forms of female-female bullying. Those nearly imperceptible slights, those carefully aimed barbs, those manipulations of emotions. N offered up as an alternative the practice of the female vampire bats, who adopt and feed young females outside of their natal groups when they're on their own. This supportive systems helps all the female vampire bats thrive.

I thought of this juxtaposition in the film--the movement between competition and collaboration.

And I thought that so much of this has to do with removing the "frames" from our lives and being honest. So often we share the framed photo version of our lives with others, when under the surface there's a mess of anxiety, uncertainty, messiness, hope, love, disappointment, disconnect. Though our lives may be on different tracks, I'm fairly certain we have similar core concerns about our very existence.

I cried during the movie because I could relate to the characters, and mostly to the sense of loss and feeling of sorrow that comes from growing apart from your closest female friends. Though I am friends with amazing women, of many ages and stages of life, many of them are scattered around the country and keeping in touch seems to ebb and flow. Our lives change and we seem strange to one another. Emails can't convey the depth of a late night chat over a bowl of Doritos and bottle of wine. Phone calls are difficult to arrange around busy work and family schedules. Even face to face visits are challenging, as we spend so much time within that framed photo.

And so much is lost, then.

I long to talk about loneliness and disappointment, about joy and dreams, about aging bodies and anxious minds. About relationships and kids and parents and friends and work and weight and spirit and food and ...

...about finding ourselves again through friendship. I want to nourish and nurture one another like the female vampire bats. And to reject those framed photos and revel in the surprise snapshots that capture a moment--mussed hair, spinach-flecked teeth, smudged mascara, exposed tummy, tired exhilaration: real.

daily bliss: delayed gratification or scientific research

2011-05-25T17:06:00.000-05:00

A year or two ago, all my baking blogging buddies were in a chocolate chip cookie frenzy. The New York Times recipe was the hip version to make.

Not always a trendsetter, but often a trendfollower, I finally made the recipe.

Now, the secret to this recipe is curing the dough for 24-36 hours in the refrigerator. (the high quality chocolate and sea salt sprinkle help, too).

This is a fantastic lesson in patience. A great practice of delayed gratification.

OR, a delicious scientific research project.

Let's say you want to make the cookies after they chill for 6-8 hours. Maybe bake two cookies, one for you and your co-taster. Verdict: yummy.

Then, you wait the requisite 24 hours. You bake four cookies, each eating one. Verdict: delicious.

And, on a cool, wet Wednesday morning, you bake five more. Verdict: yummy, delicious, and satisfying.

These cookies baked flat and tender crisp, the rich chocolate melting and hardening into pockets of messy goodness. They're a lovely counterpoint to my favorite "Mrs. Field's" cookies that bake up taller, thicker, and more solid. The sea salt is a perfect garnish. I even used part whole wheat flour, which was undetectable (and makes these cookies a health food, yes?).

daily bliss: spring awakening

2011-05-23T13:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday afternoon I curled on the couch with a stack of cookbooks, flipping through asparagus recipes and cold salads and then the rest of The New York Times Cookbook, suddenly hungry for everything.

"What are you looking for?" Gregg wondered, as he watched Finding Forrester.

"Oh, salads, asparagus, you know."

But really, I was looking for my hunger, my craving, my passion, my self.

And I could feel it in those pages, but more so in the simple act of browsing through recipes without a clear purpose other than interest, inspiration, and possibility.

***
This morning I walked along the lake, buffeted by brisk winds--the kind that whip up waves as they blow warm air across Lake Michigan's chilly expanse. I pushed up my sweatshirt sleeves and removed my fleece headband. Even as daffodils dot swaths of grass, I still dread the possibility of heavy, wet snowflakes.

The winter was long, precipitous, and mostly, hard.

Between increased responsibility and stress at work, political turmoil involving said work, minor medical issues, ailing family members, and my usual seasonal affective disorder, this winter replaced my passion and bliss with incessant anxiety and low level depression. I was functional, going to work, connecting to a small circle of family and friends, cooking and eating meals. I was not, however, thriving. My creativity and passion plummeted. My activity decreased; my weight increased. Bereft in April, I wondered where I was, who I was.

***
And so today, I slept late. I ate light. I walked long. I engaged my senses: damp marine scent, chipper bird song, the light touch of my hair blowing on my face, the sweetness of last summer's strawberries in a smoothie, the cycles of sun and clouds against grey and blue sky. Mostly, I sensed the feeling of recovery.

As I walked the familiar trail, I found these words to share this story, a common one, I'm sure, but one that needs telling just the same. How bliss can disappear when we forget the greater sacredness above the daily tumult. How fear can overwhelm when we forget that life's beauty is in its transience. How love and quiet and solitude and compassion and companionship and music and ritual and incense and movement and kindness can lead us back to our bliss, back to ourselves, and then, back, more fully, to the world.

daily bliss: happy spring, happy easter

2011-04-24T08:30:00.000-05:00

Happy sunny morning

Happy spring awakening

Happy renewal

Happy. Happy. Happy.

daily bliss: bubble therapy

2011-04-14T23:22:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, it's as simple as this:

a deep tub, rumbling and roiling, smelling of lavender, puckering my hands and feet.

a tall flute, filling and fizzing, light pink and ever so slightly sweet.

a wedge of deepest, darkest chocolate stout cake.

a thick novel.

empty pages.

fast pens.

quiet.

ahh.

twd: pecan powder puffs

2011-04-05T21:30:00.000-05:00

When I lived in Alabama, Aunt S would send me a care package right before Christmas. In that package: a ziploc bag filled with Mexican wedding cookies. I would sit in my apartment, looking out at a blue, warm-ish December day, and dream of snow, and home, and family with each taste.

Dorie's version skips the chocolate kiss in the center, is light on sugar, and heavy on pecans. I made my cookies diminuitive, and keep popping them in my mouth on each pass through the kitchen.

These cookies bring a smile to my face, and make me think of fun times with Aunt S, who has a great sense of humor (she has to--she has three now grown sons!).

And, they make me think of Grandma C, who sent me a bag of pecans from boomland, an all-purpose fireworks and gas and pecan store in Missouri. She picks up a few bags each time she and Grandpa drive from Michigan to Arkansas to visit our kin, and we munch away for weeks afterwards.

I can't wait for summertime to eat pecans and sip wine and sit by the pool and catch up with my Michigan kin.

For now, though, I have a small pile of buttery, nutty, sugary goodness.

[note: i've been absent from TWD, mired in a difficult winter and too many responsibilities at work all while being vilified by many as a "lazy state employee." my return is less than triumphant, because, um, i'm a week behind in my recipe. please forgive me! and please enjoy these cookies just the same. they were selected by Tianne, of the awesomely named Buttercream Barbie blog.]

daily bliss: baking away the blues

2011-03-07T21:35:00.000-06:00

So sporadic.

My words have failed me these last tumultuous weeks. As have my other coping strategies: yoga, walking, journaling, listening to classical music, chatting with friends, baking treats, cooking elaborate meals, reading for fun.

These strategies failed mostly because I stopped using them, instead obsessively reading the news, venting with friends, and curling up into a tight ball of sleep every night.

Last Tuesday night was a particular low point, when I questioned my educational path and my unfailing belief in education as empowering. Why had I worked so hard in school? Why had I lived seven years away from my home region? Why had I loved the reading and writing and research so much that I spent 12 years earning three degrees and spending much money (mine, my parents', and governmental loans) as well as delayed my entry into the workforce for this?

This: constant stream of devaluation by those currently in power in this, my adopted state on the west side of Lake Michigan.

I could launch into a political rant about the misconceptions about educator lives and work and pay.

I'm tempted.

I trust that readers who care will ask, or will do real research and find out facts.

Rather, I'd like to share with you 16 dozen cookies and a loaf of banana bread.

***
Two weekends ago, I declared a baking blitz "cookiepalooza" and urged others to join. We would shower the campus with homemade cookies to lighten spirits and bring a touch of sweetness to the overall gloom. Students and colleagues alike baked along, and cookies graced desks and tummies across campus.

I felt warm, happy, and delighted at the power of butter, sugar, flour, and eggs to work such transformation.

Then Tuesday hit, with the aforementioned despair.

On Wednesday morning, while working on some important emails and phone calls in my office, sunlight streaming in, and soft music playing, my vision started going wonky. Letters were missing chunks, and a strange shape, made of light, filled my left eye.

I turned to two dear friends and colleagues, who comforted me, reassured me that I was probably having a visual aura typical of migraines and not the stroke that I feared, and drove me to the emergency room, where my friend R held my hand and waited the hour and a half it took for me to be seen, diagnosed with a migraine, injected with imitrex, and sent on my way to rest and sleep without any visual or auditory stimuli.

As I rested on the couch that afternoon, I felt the stress and tension of the past weeks slowly melting away. I accepted my enforced rest. And I realized that I needed to change my approach to these tough times if I'm going to survive them with my physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health intact.

My coping strategies are no longer optional additions to my days. They are essential. They are about valuing and honoring myself. They are about thriving in the face of adversity. They are about staying compassionate and generous when the world suggests competition and scarcity.

They are about love.

And so, today, I practiced yoga. I walked in the brisk half-sunshine. I put in eight hours of work. I came home, turned on the oven, and started to bake:

A loaf of my favorite banana bread, studded with toasted walnuts and redolent of vanilla.

I selected the slim, deep bread pan my blogging friend (and migraine sympathizer) N sent me a month ago.

I mashed the roasted bananas, and stirred the dough, thinking of gratitude, and looking forward to tomorrow morning when I will bring half of this hefty loaf to R, as a thank you for being a friend who was there when I needed help and reassurance.

***
The world is full of love and beauty, always.

The human spirit contains multitudes.

Kindness and generosity are transformative.

And, yes, I believe these statements, from the very core of my being. It is only when I forget that I descend into the darkness that others try to fling over the world.

Not my world.

It sparkles; it shines.

It radiates love hope possibility.

And sweet treats from my kitchen, to your heart.

Namaste, my friends.

daily bliss: courage

2011-02-20T21:32:00.001-06:00

madison, wisconsin

19 february 2011

As the wind whirls whiteness outside—another winter storm—and as my throat scratches inside—another winter cold—I muse on different forms of courage.

The courage of a student, out of school for more than a decade, GED in hand, ready to earn a college degree.

The courage of young moms in my classes, many of them single, supporting their kids and themselves, excelling at every assignment, and dedicated to providing their families with high quality food and education on a limited budget.

The courage of everyday women and men, who dedicate their lives to serving the public in high profile—public safety, education—and invisible—snow plow drivers, custodians—positions.

The courage of these same people who risk their livelihood in and out of their professions, standing up for others and for themselves.

The courage of 14 elected officials who recognize that doing your job means that sometimes you're not where you're "supposed to be."

The courage of people to travel from around the state, the region, the country, the continent, to peacefully protest and stand up for the very essence of human rights.

***
When I was a young, unsure teenager in high school, so desperately seeking to fit in, I wished my dad would wear any other coat than his shiny blue one with the union insignia emblazoned on back. My friends' fathers were managers and principals and engineers. My dad was a blue collar worker and a union rep.

Ironically, the farther I traveled through the educational system, the closer I came to truly embracing my parents' values of supporting and celebrating the working people: education as liberation from wrongful aspiration.

Today, my dad advocates for working people every day.

Today, I work diligently to provide my students—many of them first generation college students from working class backgrounds, like me—the education they need to gain entry in the middle class.

Today, I realize that my education and training as an educator, has given me the courage to tell the truth and take a stand for causes I believe in: worker's rights. Women's rights. Human rights. Equality. Social justice.

Beyond that, though, I remember the basic lessons from my parents about the value of all laborers, those with and without degrees. Education does not only come from sitting in classrooms and reading books (as I once believed). It comes from questioning. From observing. From considering possibilities. From being in the thick of things.

And, as I tell my students, deciding what you believe.

Yesterday I stood, marched, and chanted with 68,000 other Americans engaging their first amendment rights.

Today, I stand with my dad as he wears that union jacket (metaphorically, as he's a state away). I would wear the jacket myself.

Tomorrow, I stand with and for my students. All of my students, regardless of what they believe.

madison, wisconsin

19 february 2011

not my season/waiting for my season

2011-02-09T22:39:00.000-06:00

At the beginning of yoga class this morning, the teacher encouraged us to focus on the places in our bodies where we felt light. My attention drifted through all my chakra centers—third eye, head, throat, heart, belly, pelvis, root—and found these energy centers tightly wound, clenched, and anything but light.

By the end of class, I could feel my breath and attention flowing more smoothly through my whole being, but residual tension remained. As I walked around the indoor track, glimpsing towering snow piles and frigid sunshine, I longed for a warmer season.

I feel like a flower bud, tightly folded against the elements, waiting for warmth, sunshine, and gentle rain to coax my petals open. One of my favorite quotes, shared with me years ago by a dear friend came to mind: "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom," Anaïs Nin.

And yet, not.

Now is not, it seems, the time to blossom.

Now is the time to sink in, to grapple with those cold spaces and darknesses, those encounters that leave me feeling like an awkward, shy, unliked seventh grade girl again. To take the measure of my incessant worries and fears. To approach these moments and anxieties and vulnerabilities and calculate their true size. To come to that clean, pure, shining place within where I can believe, wholeheartedly, in the magnificence of life. Of my life.

Of me.

And then, come Spring, to unfurl.

twd: nutty-chocolatey-swirly-sour cream bundt cake

2011-01-25T20:15:00.000-06:00

These winter days—either brilliantly sunny and frigidly cold, or shades of white and grey and slightly warmer—dull the soul.

This nutty-chocolatey-swirly-sour cream bundt cake revives it.

As I sat at work today, the first day of Spring Semester classes, I watched heavy, melting snow slide off the roof and add to the growing pile outside my window obstructing my view. It's all sky, bare tree branches, and parking lot light posts from where I sit.

Imagine the comfort this fragrant, rich, hearty cake provided at 1:00, with a cup of vanilla green tea, and the Neko Case pandora station playing.

Bliss.

***
This cake baked easily for me. I used my rose shaped bundt pan, and remembered to adjust the oven heat down 25 degrees since the pan is so dark. Between the non-stick surface and my careful buttering and flouring, the surface was slick and the cake unmolded beautifully. Gregg and I have been chipping away at the cake since I baked on Saturday, and we shared a few wedges with his parents on Sunday, after watching the Green Bay Packers defeat the Chicago Bears and clinch their Superbowl spot. (I'm really a Detroit Lions fan, but will need a few more years to see them in the playoffs, so I'm forced to cheer for GB and that cute Aaron Rodgers:)) It was perfect with a cup of coffee at the end of an exciting game.

***
Jennifer, of the blog Cooking for Comfort, selected this recipe. Visit her blog for the recipe, and check out the Tuesdays with Dorie website to see who else baked this week.

100 words: you can do anything!

2011-01-23T23:33:00.001-06:00

I'm participating in a weekly writing challenge: 100 words. Each week, Velvet Verbosity posts a prompt, and participants write 100 words, in any form, that evoke the word. This week's word: credentials.

You Can Do Anything!

“Welcome to freshmen writing,” she said, standing behind the oak lectern. “I’m going to take attendance, and then we’re going over the syllabus,” she glanced down at her notes. Make a joke. “I won’t make you write just yet.” Her eyes peered over the tops of her faux tortoiseshell glasses. A few smiles, no laughs. Try harder. “So, please tell me what you want to be called. You can even make up a name! I did!” And credentials, too. Laughter, finally. A Master’s in positive psychology easily became one in English. “Now, take out your pencils and write,” she smiled.

twd: lemon (poppyseed) muffins

2011-01-18T23:09:00.000-06:00

A crystalline winter night, with piles of freshly fallen and plowed snow lining the roads. Stars illuminate a blueblack sky, and the temperature plummets. Gregg and I drive home with the taste of citrus in our mouths: lemon pie with towering meringue, margarita tea cookies, and glasses of viognier. I clasp a small pie pumpkin, crudely halved (to check the integrity of its innards), on my lap. My coat pockets bulge with small heads and miscellaneous cloves of Roja garlic. Two dozen farm fresh eggs nestle on the floorboard.

We just enjoyed an impromptu visit with friends T and J. A quick succession of stories, video clips, book and movie synopsis filled a few hours on this stark winter's night.

And now, I suppose, I must talk about these muffins. Readers, I didn't bake them long enough. They're pale and rather doughy. They're missing poppyseeds (mine smelled rancid) and slicked with just a hint of glaze. But! I used a fragrant, floral meyer lemon in place of traditional lemon, which alters the flavor somewhat. Gregg quite likes them. I think they're okay, but my execution could've been much better.

Still, there's something about citrus these days—a form of sunshine and warmth—that fortifies the soul. A ruby red grapefruit, which cuts through the muddledness with alacrity. The sweetness of a navel orange, or, better yet, a cara cara, tasting like summer fun.

These moments bring me out-of-season and bring me joy.

Just like eating pie and drinking wine with friends, on a cold January night.

***
Betsy, of the blog A Cup of Sweetness, selected this recipe for the Tuesdays with Dorie (TWD) baking group. Check out her blog, and the TWD website for more muffins.

twd: rewind: pecan sticky buns

2010-12-29T22:32:00.000-06:00

Last week I had an ambitious thought: make a pan of homemade sweet rolls, likely the cinnamon variety, for Christmas morning breakfast. For many years, my dad created a mock cinnamon roll, using a recipe he learned in boy scouts, which involved dropping bits of butter and a shower of brown sugar into a cake pan, and topping it with a package of canned biscuits--the kind that pop! out of the package when you start unrolling it--and baking them to golden perfection. Since we've stopped making these, there's limited sweetness on our holiday table, and I was determined to rectify such a sad situation.

We always have a banket wreath from the local Dutch bakery; banket is a flaky pastry filled with sweet almond paste. This year Gregg and I made homemade banket to taste test alongside the bakery version; while we liked out pastry better (Gregg was in charge of that step), the bakery filling topped ours in taste and texture.

As I graded student exams on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, it became clear that time was limited and my cinnamon roll dreams would not come to pass.

My apologies to the non-banket eaters (Mom and L), who feasted on cheese, bread, fruit, coffee, and mimosas alone.

As I settled back into home after a whirlwind trip to Michigan for the holiday weekend, I remembered that this week's TWD selection was a rewind. I paged through Baking: From My Home to Yours and soon was smitten with a photo of lush cinnamon, glossy pecans, and viscous caramel.

A week too late.

I made them anyway.

And, starting homemade brioche on Tuesday morning for a Tuesday blog post?

A day too late.

I beg forgiveness from all involved.

And I raise a petite, perfect roll in your honor.

Sweet and spicy and crunchy and soft and utterly delicious.

I have half a recipe of brioche dough tucked into the freezer, and promise to share next time.

Happy belated holidays, and happy belated TWD blogging.

happy holidays

2010-12-27T21:55:00.000-06:00

Traditions: holiday hijinks. banket wreaths from the local dutch bakery. waking my brother up on christmas morning. christmas eve cocktails, family gathering, and late night pizza. christmas morning european style breakfast with mimosas and fromage de noel (gratte paille from france via zingermans). bubbly with mom and aunt s. and grandma on christmas afternoon.

Change: integrating gregg into our traditions. christmas evening at home, cooking a gourmet meal and playing raucous uno. pre-christmas gathering with gregg's family.

Joy: laughter of dear friends and family. waking up next to gregg on christmas morning. sharing a long weekend with my family. roadtripping with gregg. a giant bottle of rombauer zinfandel.

Sadness: realizing Grandpa V's health is declining.

Christmas 2010: smiles and tears. new and old. wishing, as always, for ever more time.

Determined—afresh, anew—to live fully in 2011.

holiday haiku: pack

2010-12-22T23:36:00.000-06:00

gather stack pile wrap
sort select bag box arrange
haul load secure: go

holiday haiku: solstice

2010-12-21T22:34:00.000-06:00

saluting the sun
fading behind snowfull clouds
shortest day this year

holiday haiku: luna

2010-12-20T23:58:00.000-06:00

cloud covered
sublunary shadows
penumbral presence

holiday haiku: gathering (one)

2010-12-19T22:42:00.001-06:00

snacking and laughing
gift giving around the tree
cooking together

holiday haiku: wrapping

2010-12-18T23:55:00.000-06:00

scissors slice paper,
corkscrew metallic ribbon
trim ragged edges

holiday haiku: provisions

2010-12-17T23:45:00.000-06:00

wandering the store—
flour sugar eggs chocolate—
this baking blitz eve

holiday haiku: twinkle

2010-12-16T22:37:00.000-06:00

tiny white lights shine
nestled between pert branches
twinkle through the night

holiday haiku: crunch

2010-12-15T22:54:00.000-06:00

boots crunch on packed snow
walking under snow flocked trees
moon rising, sun sets

twd: apple coconut family cake

2010-12-14T22:55:00.000-06:00

Oh, my baking friends, how I've missed you! I can imagine the warmth of your kitchens, the happy smells of vanilla and sugar, and the delicious cookies and cakes and pies you've made without me.

This week, I'm finally done with classes, and in the liminal stage before final exams start pouring in, which means more time in the kitchen to play, and more time on the computer to write.

As I write this post, the apple coconut family cake is baking, perfuming our home with a slightly boozy (bourbon), tad spicy (cinnamon), and altogether autumnal (apples and pears) scent. I'll skip the glaze, and perhaps dust the cake with powdered sugar in the morning, before taking it to work for one of our coffee hours.

I made a few minor adjustments to Dorie's recipe; I used one apple and one huge pear, since the rest of my apples are in cold storage (a cooler in the garage) and it's too cold (7 degrees) to venture out for two apples. I used bourbon instead of rum since that's what I had handy, and, as I mentioned above, don't have jelly for a glaze.

Still, my colleagues should be pleased with this hearty, rustic cake, and I know I will be too.

Thanks to Amber of Cobbler du Monde for selecting this simple and pleasing recipe. Please check out her blog for the recipe.

holiday haiku: last

2010-12-14T21:42:00.000-06:00

last day of class blues
community dissolving
a thing of the past

holiday haiku: grading

2010-12-13T23:48:00.000-06:00

stacks of bright folders
stuffed with white scrawling pages
waiting for comments

holiday haiku: lazy

2010-12-12T22:18:00.000-06:00

cozy pajamas
long cardigans fuzzy socks
from morning to night

holiday haiku: blizzard

2010-12-11T22:15:00.001-06:00

snowflake flocked windows
flurries swirl blow drift gather
endless blank white page.

holiday haiku: lights

2010-12-10T23:58:00.000-06:00

houses trimmed with lights:
dangling white icicles
or multi-colors?

holiday haiku: snow

2010-12-09T21:30:00.000-06:00

cue the swirling flakes
twirling between light displays
nestling in lawn décor

holiday haiku: tunes

2010-12-08T22:35:00.000-06:00

holiday cd:
songs selected, mixed, arranged
with friendship and love

holiday haiku: stellar

2010-12-07T21:05:00.000-06:00

crystalline constant
silent serendipity
crisp constellation

holiday haiku: wrapped

2010-12-06T21:44:00.000-06:00

swathed in fleece blankets
undulating pashmina
and boiled wool slippers

holiday haiku: dwell

2010-12-05T23:23:00.000-06:00

spackled gingerbread
confectionary sparkle
home sweet home

holiday haiku: shopping

2010-12-04T22:22:00.000-06:00

wandering bookstores
target foodie stores galore
visualize delight

holiday haiku: tree

2010-12-03T22:56:00.000-06:00

tinsel draped branches

threaded with tiny white lights

support memories

holiday haiku: tree trimming

2010-12-02T23:22:00.000-06:00

unpack ornaments
vintage balls handmade baubles
hanging memories

holiday haiku: first snow

2010-12-01T21:52:00.000-06:00

december begins:
swirling flurrying snowflakes
accumulation

daily bliss: gloom busters

2010-11-30T22:05:00.000-06:00

At November's end, temperatures plummet, skies grey, and darkness descends early. Somedays, gloom is all too ready to descend and grow.

These days, I take comfort in simple pleasures:

flannel sheets and faux down comforters

early morning yoga or walks

twice daily cafe au lait

steel cut oats with brown sugar, walnuts, and dried fruit

a small fraser fir twinkling with white lights

warm hugs and supportive ears from family and friends

streaming internet music

student engagement

cooking and baking for the ones I love

laughter

love

love

love

haiku: thanks

2010-11-29T22:50:00.000-06:00

kindness of strangers
bubbling lasagne, red wine
eighteen months of bliss

bliss eats: sweet sunday soup

2010-11-28T21:56:00.000-06:00

I bought this seven pound butternut squash at the last farmers' market of the year, and decided today would be the day I'd test my Wüsthof chef's knife against its sturdy shell. I cut it into eight big pieces and roasted until tender. I tucked most of the wedges in the freezer, but saved one for a warm, sweet, orangey soup that was taking shape in my head.

I made a batch of veggie stock and cooked two pounds of dried cannelini beans. I set aside some of each for the soup. And then I played with flavor and hoped for the best.

This soup, which I've decided to name Sweet Sunday Soup, is hearty and yet light. It's perfectly satisfying after eating Thanksgiving foods in a variety of forms, and is warming on a cold late late fall night.

Sweet Sunday Soup

3 cloves garlic

several carrots, cut into small pieces

1 rib of celery, diced

part of an onion, diced

4 small yukon gold potatoes, diced

1 sweet potato, diced

part of a butternut squash, roasted and diced

1 bay leaf

1 sprig of fresh thyme

2 cups of cooked cannelini beans

several cups of veggie stock

several cups of water

salt and pepper to taste

fresh spinach

parmesan cheese, grated

Saute the first four ingredients in olive oil until they brown. Toss in the potatoes and sweet potatoes and cook for a few minutes. Add stock and water, along with the herbs. Bring the soup to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and cook until potatoes are crisp-tender, then add the beans and squash. Cook until flavors meld and all vegetables are tender, adding liquid as necessary. Salt and pepper to taste.

Tear spinach into soup bowls and then ladle in the hot soup. Garnish with cheese.

Serve with warm cornbread.

daily bliss: lazy long weekend

2010-11-27T22:52:00.000-06:00

Ahhh, the coveted holiday four day weekend! Thursday feels like Friday and Friday feels like Saturday and Saturday feels like Saturday and Sunday, well, feels like Sunday with a tinge of Monday (but we won't go there just yet).

There's plenty of time to laze on the couch after lunch watching the Food Network; to linger in bed listening to NPR Morning Edition buried under warm soft layers; to empty summer's terra cotta pots and to buy a small cute christmas tree and place it in the stand; to walk or drive downtown to spend a few hours in a bar or coffeeshop connecting with one's significant other; to page through Martha Stewart cookies cookbook and drool over the gorgeous photos whilst debating the merits of chewy versus crispy cookies; to take one's daily shower right before bed to warm up and invite sleep; to listen to the tapping of keys and whirring of dishwasher and the crisp still late late fall silence.

And tomorrow there will be plenty of time to read and grade and email for work, exercise, bake cookies, trim the tree, do the laundry, and listen to football.

Savor. Enjoy. Surrender.

Be right here, right now.

daily bliss: date day

2010-11-26T21:50:00.000-06:00

For sweetest day, G planned an awesome day of fun activities we both would like, from wandering the Mitchell Bio-domes to watching Japanese flower arranging (Ikebana) to dining at a Japanese restaurant.

I wanted to plan a date that centered around some of G's favorite activities, and so today we walked in the blustery cold to a local tavern to watch football, drink an adult beverage, and shoot darts.

As Auburn trailed Alabama at halftime, we took to the dart board, and G, who has been shooting on a league for 15 years, showed me the basics. I loved watching him think and release the dart, and he made many impressive shots.

I'm proud to say I hit the board most of the time.

As the game returned, and Auburn began to build momentum, we focused on the television, and I cheered as Auburn steadily moved toward victory.

A quiet post-holiday afternoon, a little bonding time, and a whole lot of fun were just what I needed today.

giving thanks

2010-11-25T23:26:00.000-06:00

autumn/winter:

cafe au lait and paperback novels

ruby red grapefruit and fast flowing pens

meandering conversation and dark chocolate truffles

alarm-free mornings and thick warm sweaters

indie music and the sunday times

unexpected surprises and neverending kisses

woolen slippers and soaring violins

***

gregg

mom and dad

L

grandmas and grandpas

aunts uncles cousins

g's family

friends

students

colleagues

fellow humans

***

daily bliss: new traditions

2010-11-24T23:46:00.000-06:00

As the wind howls outside and whips around mixed precipitation, I take a break from prepping vegetarian cornbread stuffing, making roasted garlic gravy, and baking a maple bourbon pecan tart to reflect on the blessings of this holiday, and the chance to create new traditions.

Since G and I are merge holidays this year, spending Thanksgiving here with his family and Christmas in Michigan with my family, I have a chance to see how my town ushers in the holidays.

Tonight G and I watched the local holiday parade, cheering for my colleagues and students, waving at adorable kids, and sipping coffee from the new, narrow shop. Santa, by the way, has officially arrived.

We joined a group of G's friends, back visiting family for the holidays, at a local bar/pizza place for laughter, stories, and beer.

When our take-out order was ready, we headed home to eat pizza slices studded with red pepper flakes and piles of vegetables.

And now, we're doing our cooking and baking and food prep.

We're blogging, the soft clicks and clacks of keys in syncopated rhythm.

They blend well.

And so do we.

daily bliss: frost

2010-11-23T23:56:00.000-06:00

That time of year...again...sans snow...

[photo to be added when blogger decides to cooperate again]

the frost performs its secret ministry...

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "Frost at Midnight"

daily bliss: auntie

2010-11-22T21:58:00.000-06:00

I am blessed to be an auntie to this charming young lady, who calls me Auntie Jess. Isn't she adorable? She's also very smart, super sweet, and highly verbal. She'll be four next month. And, she'll always be my special niece!

haiku: loss/memory

2010-11-21T21:30:00.000-06:00

cold november night
miles rolling underneath tires
a friend says goodbye

for S and her family: remembering N, a man full of love, faith, humor, opinions, with many tractors and nifty gadgets and a loving family and a generous heart, who died four years ago today.

daily bliss: family/story

2010-11-20T20:58:00.000-06:00

I'm spending a few days in Michigan, a pre-holiday visit, if you will, relaxing and visiting my family after some busy weeks at work. One Grandpa recently had a pacemaker installed, and the other is slowly recovering from a nasty bout of skin infection, so I was especially glad to see them. And, I enjoyed surprising my Grandma at the outlet mall where she and Mom "just happened" to be shopping. Tonight I chatted with an Uncle and cousin who stopped by after an evening in the woods looking for deer. And, this afternoon, I watched the Gilmore Girls and sipped tea with my mom, and talked politics and planned an early morning walk out to the blueberry field with my dad.

But mostly, I love to listen to their stories.

Stories of a daily nature, of local travels.

Updates of family I won't have a chance to see this time.

Stories from the past: one great-uncle's loving gesture to his childless wife, one grandfather's harrowing experiences as a prisoner-of-war.

Stories in the making: new holiday traditions and widening family circles.

Story creates and sustains us.

Family.

Story.

Forever.

daily bliss: hats

2010-11-19T22:15:00.000-06:00

Two summers ago, I bought this chunky, fun hat at a sidewalk sale, and tucked it away until winter. It's still my favorite headgear, and attracts positive comments every time I wear it. Now, I'm a little distressed that I need to wear a hat (i'm never ready for the temperature free-fall), but at least this one brings joy to many:)

daily bliss: writing groups

2010-11-18T22:10:00.001-06:00

Our bookshelves are lined with writing advice books: Julia Cameron, Natalie Goldberg, Ralph Keyes, Brenda Ueland, and many others.

I took a few fiction and poetry writing classes during my graduate school years, studying with Gordon Henry, Judy Troy, and Natasha Tretheway.

Back then, I gathered in coffeeshops and homes with friends and classmates to share fiction and poetry and hybrid prose.

And now, I'm in a writing group with four other women. We meet once a month to share our writing and provide insightful, productive critiques.

And the part of me that's been quiet, and mostly solitary, and shut up in academic prose, soars.

daily bliss: blogging, part two: how blogs changed my personal life

2010-11-17T22:42:00.001-06:00

Blogs brought me a boyfriend.

(blogger should use this as a selling point, yes?)

My friend B stumbled on Gregg's blog about two years ago, and told me I might like it. "He's all zen, and funny, and a writer." So, I clicked over, read the blog description, tried to puzzle out the title, and bookmarked it. I checked back every so often and wondered about this guy. Where was he? Was he single? He seemed like someone I could relate to. He wrote about cheering for a losing football team from my home state. He described taking his parents to see Garrison Keillor. He made me smile and laugh and dream, just a little, of romantic possibility.

And then one April day, I clicked over to his blog and my heart started thumping. He wrote about attending a poetry reading at a local college.

My college.

A reading I organized.

And so I came out of lurkdom and left a comment, and, well, the rest will be a lifetime movie, according to my Mom's hair stylist.

I love our story so much that I never tire of sharing it.

When I was single, people would tell me to do things I loved as a way to meet people.

What I most love are reading and writing, baking and yoga. These are either solitary activities or predominantly female activities.

And yet the advice worked.

Our love of words brought us together.

How very poetic.

daily bliss: blogging, part one: how blogs changed my professional life

2010-11-16T23:33:00.000-06:00

NaBloPoMo definitely tests one's blogging fortitude, with a daily challenge to write something. In a month that tests my mental fortitude—November's sudden chilly grey damp days are always a shock to my system—this practice of opening up my blog post box and filling it with words and images grounds and paralyzes me.

(secret confession? days of haiku are days with no inspiration, or great inspiration but no mental, physical, emotional energy to actually write the post I have in mind.)

Tonight, though, I want to celebrate this medium, which has brought me great joy this week. For the past three years, I've been using blogs in the classes I teach. I create one blog for the class, add the students as authors, assign a weekly post deadline, and turn them loose. Some students take to the digital writing space immediately, while others founder for words. I wanted to study how to best use blogs in the class, and to explore how this kind of writing can help teach students how to think, read, and write in an academic discipline. And so, earlier this fall, I applied for a rather competitive fellowship that the UW-System supports.

I was selected to represent my college, which means access to workshops and presentation forums, as well as financial support (ipad, anyone?!?). I'm thrilled to study and share my love of the blog space, and to bridge my personal and professional interests in this way. I'll begin the project late next Spring...stay tuned for more updates!

(stay tuned for blogging, part two: how blogs changed my personal life.)

daily bliss: slippers and ugg boots

2010-11-15T22:39:00.000-06:00

Tonight I'm padding around the house, reading and responding to student drafts, monitoring items on ebay, tidying up our small space, wearing drawstring pj pants, a soft grey tank top, hoodie, and my dirty, faded, tall pink Ugg boots. (and, in the interest of full disclosure, I must add that I'm wrapped in my oft-mentioned pink fleece blanket.)

While these boots have outlived much of their original purpose--keeping my feet warm and dry during winter's finest storms (largely because they don't succeed at the dry bit)--they make fabulous "slippers" when my wool mary jane haflingers won't do. These boots are cozy and broken in, and, as long as I'm not standing for long periods of time, so comforting.

Now, as long as I don't have to wear these--or any--boots outdoors for another month or so, I'll be happy-ish.

haiku: sunday, gloomy sunday

2010-11-14T22:57:00.000-06:00

grey november sky
cold melancholy drizzle
curling up and in

100 words: sensuous

2010-11-13T07:46:00.000-06:00

I'm participating in a weekly writing challenge: 100 words. Each week, Velvet Verbosity posts a prompt, and participants write 100 words, in any form, that evoke the word. This week's word: pleasure.

Sensuous

stillness of early morning, the sun rising pink and orange over steely Lake Michigan

laughter, tinkling or guffawing, rising and falling

swirling, sipping a glass of seductive pinot noir

colored leaves, or gentle snowflakes, floating to the ground

swimming in words, lapping through the pages of a thick novel

swaddled in a fleece blanket, pink

four layer cake, white with berry filling and whipped cream, or chocolate, with
sticky caramel pecan frosting, savored

samuel barber’s “adagio for strings,” soaring and hollowing

a warm hand pressed in the small of the back

the free-flowing scrawl of a fast-moving pen

daily bliss: afternoon coffee

2010-11-12T22:52:00.000-06:00

Between 3:00 and 4:00 in the afternoon, I love to have a mug of cafe au lait and a small snack, if I'm at home. Sometimes I flip on the Food Network or the Gilmore Girls to keep me company.

Today was special. My mom arrived at 3:30, and we set about making coffee, steaming milk, and arranging snacks. The banana bread I made was still slightly warm, and mom brought pear crostata. As we sipped and nibbled, we chatted and settled in for a weekend visit. What a blessing to spend this blustery weekend catching up.

daily bliss: parisian chic

2010-11-11T22:37:00.000-06:00

Chartres

Eiffel Tower

Versailles

the Louvre

haiku: fuel

2010-11-10T23:32:00.000-06:00

michael pollan talk.
chocolate scone, chai latte.
deep conversation.

twd: not-just-for-Thanksgiving cranberry shortbread cake

2010-11-09T23:53:00.000-06:00

Wisconsin, in addition to the distinct honor of being home to the Germanic trifecta of cheese, sausage, and beer, is the cranberry state! This time of year, our local grocery store sells cranberries, all ruby and firm, in red netted bags. I buy a few bags each time I'm at the store and stash the extras in my freezer for tasty treats long after the cranberry holidays have come and gone.

This week's TWD recipe, selected by Jessica, of Singleton in the Kitchen, features a thick layer of cranberry orange jam nestled between layers of a soft, dense cake with a crisp outer crust and the delightful butter flavor of shortbread.

I baked the cake on Sunday, and offered it up to our dinner guests, Gregg's parents. Everyone liked the cake, and G declared it better than the classic apple pie I also served. I love how not-sweet this cake is, and I love the textures. I'll definitely make this again, perhaps in the middle of summer, when cranberries are but a dream in the bog, but stacked abundantly in my freezer.

monday morning musings

2010-11-08T10:26:00.000-06:00

One cup of coffee too many yesterday evening taught me that I've reached that regrettable age of caffeine intolerance. Boo. Hence last night I tossed and turned, my mind filled with bizarre dreams and worries. I woke for good at 6:00 when I heard an intermittent chirp--that tell-tale sound that one of the detectors/monitors needs new batteries.

As the rising sun burned off a layer of fog, I sipped my coffee and read for classes today, pushing aside the worries and anxieties. They came crashing back once I laced my shoes up and set out for a brisk walk after a hearty breakfast of well-dressed steel cut oats.

A few weeks ago, I encouraged my students to do a pair of writing exercises: write down your current stresses, and then, after a break, write about your blessings. Linking these two writings helps reframe the brain, theoretically.

And so, though this blog is more about bliss than stress, this morning I'm going to take my own advice. It won't be polished or pretty because an 11:00 class awaits, but I need this more than anything this morning.

Stresses:
Concern about my family: my 92 year old Grandpa is recovering from a severe infection, and is currently at a "facility"--somewhere between the hospital and home--until he regains strength. This is making all of us a little more aware of mortality, the swift passage of time and how we spend it, and the kinds of connections we make with each other.

Concern about my job: how will the recent election results impact my standing as a (often vilified) state employee? I'm sure financial hits are coming, but I don't know to what extent. And, as I continue on the tenure track, I worry about choices I've made to redirect my career, namely to write more creatively and less scholarly, to stop working on projects that brought me little joy, and instead write in my voice, from my heart, to connect with the readers I most want.

Concern about the holidays: this year Gregg and I are merging our holidays, which is wonderfully exciting, but stressful, too, as we leave the comfort of our established rituals and enter into a new way of celebrating with each others' families. I feel nothing but love from and for Gregg's family, and am so blessed to have them in my life. Still, the holidays are, well, the holidays. Filled with tradition and memory and expectation--qualities that can be both positive and negative. Making new traditions and memories is a happy form of stress, as well as a kind of loss.

Missing my friends, both locally and scattered around the country. How did we all get so busy that reconnecting seems a chore more than a joy?

And the anxiety of body image, of worst-case scenarios, of generalized worry seems to be gaining strength. Yoga and walks and journaling and talking are effective ways to manage these troublesome thoughts and feelings, but at 2:00 in the morning they don't quite work.

Blessings:
A loving family, including a fabulous boyfriend/co-habitator/co-conspirator, parents, brother, two sets of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, and G's family, who have taken me into theirs so warmly.

A diverse and wide circle of friends, including many kindred spirits.

A job I mostly love, with many non-material benefits.

A cozy home in a lakefront town.

An open heart, mind, and soul.

Access to healthy food and wellness centers and yoga studios.

Good health.

Numerous writing outlets.

Readers!

Hot tea and cafe au lait and soft sweaters and a cloud bed and a reliable car and a strong social network and chocolate and kindness and hugs and kisses and an amazing music collection and warm memories and...

possibilities.

(i feel better already. namaste, my friends.)

haiku: kitchen magic

2010-11-07T23:03:00.000-06:00

dishwasher churning
swell labor saving device
lulling me asleep

daily bliss: saturday simplicity

2010-11-06T23:11:00.000-05:00

Eating oatmeal with brown sugar, dried cranberries, walnuts, and cinnamon.

Stretching and breathing throuh a sixty minute power yoga class at the gym.

Grading a stack of short essays.

Being silly with Gregg.

Co-journaling.

Walking to a new coffee shop owned by a former student.

Wandering the video store picking out movies.

Gathering groceries.

Cooking and eating a simple autumn/winter meal of whole wheat couscous with assorted roasted vegetables, tossed with olive oil and smoked spanish paprika.

Being silly.

Watching I Love You, Man.

Laughing out loud throughout most of the aforementioned movie, especially at Paul Rudd's character.

Thinking about how dreamy Paul Rudd is.

Answering yes when Gregg asks me if I think Paul Rudd is dreamy.

Baking and eating a small apple pie.

Drinking vanilla chai tea, laced with maple syrup and half-and-half.

Blogging.

Talking to my mom.

Reading Happily Ever After, the fourth book in Nora Roberts' Bridal Quartet.

Snuggling in the cozy flannel sheets and faux down warmth of our Cloud bed.

Sleeping for an extra hour.

butternut squash and apple ravioli with apple cider beurre blanc

2010-11-05T22:22:00.000-05:00

Last Sunday, I was struck with culinary crafting fever. I wanted a project meal. You know, the kind that takes many steps--none of them difficult--but many just the same.

This was my incentive to grade, grade, grade and tidy, tidy, tidy.

And so it was that at 3:30 in the afternoon I was roasting butternut squash, caramelizing onions and shallot, and kneading pasta dough before the trick-or-treaters arrived.

I toasted walnuts, crisped sage, roasted garlic, made applesauce.

Did I mention the many steps?

Many.

Here they are, in rough quantities and approximations because that's the way I cook when I'm inventing a dish the first time.

Pasta Dough
I use a recipe from Lidia Bastiannich, which contains egg and olive oil. You can use your favorite recipe, or, to simplify matters, use wonton wrappers.

Ravioli Filling
My "recipe" made more than enough filling for 14 ravioli. I packaged up the leftover filling and stashed it in the freezer for another meal, when I don't have quite as much time to play.

1 medium butternut squash, seeds and weird stringy stuff scooped out, cut into wedges. Toss with olive oil and roast on a baking sheet or in a glass baking dish for 30ish minutes, depending on the size of your wedges. Allow to cool, and then peel.

3 cloves of garlic, roasted.

Several shallots and part of an onion, caramelized slowly on the stove top. I deglaze the pan several times with wine right at the end.

2 medium apples, peeled, cored, and diced, simmered with a bit of water until they break down into a rough sauce. Sprinkle with fresh nutmeg.

Combine all of these ingredients in a large sauce pan; season with salt and pepper. Thin with water as necessary, and puree with a stick blender.

Crafting and Cooking the Ravioli
Cut your pasta dough into whatever size squares you prefer. Place a spoonful of filling in the center of half of your squares. Don't overfill. Don't underfill. You need to play around with the filling amount to get it just right, I'm afraid.

Dip your finger into water, and trace the edge of the squares with filling. Place an unfilled square on top and press together. The water should act as a glue of sorts. I like to then crimp the edges with a fork to ensure a tight seal.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil; salt it generously. Add a few ravioli at a time to the bubbling water; don't crowd them. They'll flip and swim and sway. When the pasta seems to have suctioned to the filling, they're done. Remove from the water and place on a platter or baking sheet. Repeat until all the ravioli are cooked.

Apple Cider Beurre Blanc
The day I made this dish, I listened to a podcast of the Splendid Table and listened to a guest wax poetic about beurre blanc, a classic French sauce that combines reduced, flavorful liquid with rich, cold butter for a silky emulsification. I thought of the half-gallon of cider in the fridge, and decided to experiment. I sauteed shallots in a bit of butter, and then added a few generous glugs of cider. I cooked it on medium high until it was reduced, and added a few pats of cold butter, whisking them in one at a time. A bit of salt and pepper completed the sauce.

Accoutrements
Toast walnuts, pecans, or hazelnuts.

Crisp a handful of sage, on the stove top, in olive oil.

Final Assembly
Add the ravioli to the warm sauce, and swirl around until the ravioli are coated. Plate the ravioli next to a bed of beautiful steamed spinach, and garnish with the toasted nuts and crispy sage.

Sip a lovely Riesling, like my favorite Kung Fu Girl variety, chat and laugh and sigh and smile with your favorite people as you delve into the flavors of fall.

Enjoy! We surely did, after all the ghosts and witches and cows and dragons and ups boys left, their plastic pumpkins or spare pillowcases stuffed with candy.

daily bliss: found

2010-11-04T23:49:00.000-05:00

I'm wrapped in my favorite pink fleece blanket with a green scarf wound around my neck as the 37 degree air drafts ever-so-slightly through the wall of lake-facing windows.

But I don't mind.

I enjoyed a blissful afternoon.

Due to a canceled meeting, I was able to leave work earlier than I have in weeks, nay, the entire semester. I actually blocked out time this afternoon to work on my writing--my non-scholarly, creative writing. And, I planned on attending a challenging yoga class.

And so, I drove to Kohler, to sit in a soft leather chair next to the fireplace at the Craverie, sipping a latte and crunching a deep chocolate biscotti. I wrote approximately 900 words of a piece that is becoming nearer and dearer with every word; it's inspired by a great-aunt who had a grown-up, life-size dollhouse of sorts, something that strikes me as sweet and sad all at once; it's about family and it's about having and not having babies.

Once my caffeine cooled, and my word flow slowed to a trickle, I drove to the nearby market, to buy Alterra coffee beans (this week's special: black and tan, a mix of sumatra and nicaragua. mmmm.), browse the wine, and check the dairy (Oikos honey greek yogurt for 80 cents cheaper than my regular grocery store? yes, please!).

Then it was time for yoga, a 75 minute Baptiste Power Class I was convinced would kick my ass.

And it sorta did.

And it was amazing.

The studio features in-floor radiant heat, which is kept at 85 degrees, so you're enveloped in warmth from the moment you roll out your mat. A wall of windows looks out onto a "lake," or, more aptly, a pond. As we moved through our vigorous practice, the geese rose and fell, the clouds hovered and lifted, the sun set.

On the way home, I picked up a pizza from my favorite pizza place, Il Ritrovo, and called Gregg. He turned on the oven, and soon after I arrived, the pizza was reheated, our wine glasses were full, and we settled in to re-watch Stranger Than Fiction. Writing and baking? Emma Thompson and Will Ferrell? What could be better?

Today was the day I've been needing for months, a day that I could spend a large chunk of not grading or teaching or chairing a committee meeting, not cooking or cleaning or planning. A day to set aside time for myself, alone, to go off and find my bliss, which has been playing hide and seek this fall.

No longer.

I'm relocating my bliss in books and words and yoga, and reconnecting with myself.

Namaste, my friends.

haiku: fabricating fall

2010-11-03T22:51:00.000-05:00

wool and fleece and down
corduroy and cashmere
please, no angora

twd: peanuttiest blondies

2010-11-02T23:09:00.000-05:00

I grew up eating brownies. Dense, low, fudgy brownies. When I started baking my own, I tossed in handfuls of chocolate chips to provide pockets of pure bliss.

I never made blondies until I joined TWD.

Seriously, what was the point? A handful of chocolate chips in a buttery, sugary, cookie-esque base?

No way. Give me brownies!

But then I made a batch of blondies and marveled at the caramel, butterscotch notes to the base, punctuated with rich chocolate and toasted nuts.

I'm a convert:)

These blondies rely on peanut butter and roasted peanuts to create a rich, dense foundation. I used milk chocolate chips (more than Dorie required, actually, because I love chocolate soooo much). A hint of cinnamon heightens the complexity of these bars, and makes them a perfect partner for a chai latte.

Thank you to Nicole of Bakeologie for selecting this recipe and reminding me of my newly found Blondie love.

nano, nablo

2010-11-01T22:33:00.000-05:00

November, in case you're not a writerly type, is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). This wildly successful movement was started by Chris Baty in 1999, to encourage folks with novelistic ambitions to crank out 50,000 words in one month, and to give life to their unwritten stories. I have attempted NaNoWriMo on two occasions, beginning with energy and enthusiasm, and fumbling at about day 10, when the daily pace became unsustainable given my day job of helping others craft words and read stories.

The blogosphere-twitterverse-facebookland radiates with writing energy today as friends virtual and real dive in. I wish them endlessly flowing, fast pens; receptive, fat notebooks; and boundless, creative momentum.

As for me, I'm sticking with National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo (which, I've just discovered does not exist in wikipedialand--quick! make a page!)), which I have successfully completed about four times now. I'll blog all month, writing posts short, rambly, poetic, and utilitarian.

It may not be a novel draft.

But it will be writing.

Thirty days worth!

Hopefully, with readers.

Stay tuned.

And, won't you join me?!?

daily bliss: happy halloween!

2010-10-31T22:40:00.000-05:00

Greetings from chilly Wisconsin.

I hope your Halloween was happy and glowing, just like these pumpkins

I carved this afternoon.

twd: double apple bundt cake

2010-10-05T21:30:00.000-05:00

I used to eat two raw apples a day during apple season. Paula Red was my favorite variety, with a crisp tart sweetness that satisfied my snacking urge. Add a few crackers and some sharp cheddar cheese, and the snack was sublime.

When Honeycrisp apples debuted, I started to notice a tingling in my lips when I ate them. Then I started noticing this weird sensation in my throat anytime I ate an apple of any variety.

I called my mom, who for years avoided eating raw apples because they made her allergic. "Oh no. It sounds like you have it too."

Yes, I had developed an oral allergy to raw apples. And, I discovered, grapes. Sometimes pineapple, too. Chamomile tea? Forget it.

Damn. I loved all these fruits. I did a little research and discovered that this form of allergy wasn't so strange at all, and was directly related to my other allergies, particularly trees and grasses.

The good news is that eating these fruits cooked does not elicit the same reaction. The bad news is that cooked fruits aren't nearly as portable. And, the cooked versions often entail tasty, yet caloric, accoutrements. Crust. Crumble. Pastry. Sugar. Butter...

No mind. I must have my apples.

And this week's cake is a fine way to eat this delicious seasonal fruit, surrounded by luscious cake, moistened with apple butter, and spiked with spices.

I made half the recipe, and used almost all whole wheat flour because I'm out of regular unbleached white flour (I'm stocking up in Michigan this coming weekend, where bags of KA are $2.89 versus the $5.99 I pay here in Wisconsin). I used organic apple butter. To increase the spiciness and add a bit more texture (especially needed since I omitted the raisins), I chopped some candied ginger and tossed it into the batter. Oh, and I chose local Empire apples, crisp, and if I remember my apples correctly, my favorite blend of tartness with a hint of sweet.

This cake is unbelievable moist, and absolutely delicious. It's a much-desired taste of apple that doesn't provoke an allergic reaction. Thank you, Lynne of Honey Muffin, for selecting this recipe. Click over to her blog for the recipe, and check out the TWD site for a list of everyone who made this week's recipe.

100 words: electric youth

2010-10-02T22:25:00.000-05:00

I'm participating in a weekly writing challenge: 100 words. Each week, Velvet Verbosity posts a prompt, and participants write 100 words, in any form, that evoke the word. This week's word:ditch.

Electric Youth

Sarah shot anxious glances at the stormy sky, then at Brad, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

“Do you think we should just go home?” She wanted to be back in her bedroom, listening to Vampire Weekend and eating cookies.

“We can beat it. We’re almost to Pizza Hut.” He was driving his dad’s car and wearing cologne.

“Brad!”

“Shit!” He swerved to the side of the road, wrenched open the car doors, pulled her out, and flung them into the deep ditch, covering his body with hers as the twister skipped across the neighboring cornfield. Electricity zinged.

“Wicked first date.”

daily bliss: endorphins

2010-09-30T22:06:00.000-05:00

A two and a half mile walk through the neighborhood, orange trees reaching up into cerulean skies, brings a smile to my face.

A circuit through the weight machines and free weight area of the gym turns my arms and legs to jello.

A handful of laps in the pool leaves my eyes stinging and red.

A series of yoga poses in the warm water therapy pool washes my body in languidity.

Five minutes in the cedar lined dry sauna relaxes every tight muscle.

Recharged, relaxed, rejuvenated.

Happy.

haiku: cloud

2010-09-29T23:09:00.000-05:00

tall and billowing
swathed with cotton and faux down
cradling me asleep

daily bliss: finding inspiration

2010-09-28T22:36:00.000-05:00

Some weeks, I drown in ungraded student work, pressing committee business, and a general sense of work induced weariness.

I long to set paper to pen, fingers to keys, and create my own sentences, but by the time my other responsibilities are fulfilled, I'm exhausted.

Yesterday, I made my words a priority, and wrote a blog post I love. I wrote a journal page of "I wishes."

And I felt like a writer.

Today, I was back to harried writing professor and frazzled committee member.

After nine hours of wrangling with others' words, Gregg and I drove to a nearby town to see/hear Michael Perry, one of our favorite authors. I'm currently teaching Perry's memoir Truck, and I encouraged my students to attend, promising extra credit for a blog post on his reading. Four students attended. At the end of the reading, several of them stood in line to have their books signed and their picture taken with Perry. I caught smiles and laughter on their faces throughout Perry's 90 minute talk.

And I was inspired.

Inspired by Perry's awesome storytelling and insights into the writerly life. But moreover, inspired to see my students interested and excited enough to attend an evening event in a town 30 minutes from campus.

Words change lives.

How much I needed this reminder today.

what came first

2010-09-27T18:32:00.000-05:00

Hold me.

I am solid.
I fit in the curve of your palm.
I am a contradiction of oppositions: fragile and strong, solitary and multitudinous.

Tap me gently, and I yield to pressure, thin walls and membranes stretching open.
Rap me decisively, and I cleave, neatly sliding out.
Crack me harshly, and I shatter into jagged shards, piercing myself.

Separate and whisk me:
I thicken into voluptuous richness
or
I billow and froth into airiness.

Swirl me together, whole, and I strengthen and lift.

haiku: autumn weekend

2010-09-26T22:23:00.000-05:00

sunshine and high clouds
miles unwind beneath my tires
driving home to home

100 words: (bitter)sweet water sea

2010-09-25T22:26:00.005-05:00

I'm participating in a weekly writing challenge: 100 words. Each week, Velvet Verbosity posts a prompt, and participants write 100 words, in any form, that evoke the word. This week's word: greater.

(Bitter)Sweet Water Sea

Sand swirls and beach grasses sway along undulating dunes.

The early evening sun streaks between grey clouds, illuminating

pink salmon orange striations. Whitecapped waves build, crest,

break, roil silt, creep up the shore. Plastic chairs teeter along disappearing banks. Looking east, she sees only water, churning across the distance, far greater than the 60 miles between Michigan and Wisconin. The pier, reaching out from the harbor, calms the waves. She runs toward it, scaring up flocks of seagulls taking wing on gusts of wind. Her feet dance along the strand edges, avoiding frigid water, leading her somewhere closer to home.

daily bliss: party prep

2010-09-24T21:25:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow, Mom and I are hosting a bridal shower for N, soon to be my cousin's wife. Since I rolled into town this afternoon, Mom and I have shopped for supplies, strolled the beach, cooked Mexican dinner with my dad, drank slightly effervescent wine, baked two kinds of cupcakes, and made pimento cheese.

Whew!

More importantly, we've chatted, laughed, and enjoyed time spent together, in the same place, which happens much too infrequently.

It's good to be home.

daily bliss: stress relief

2010-09-23T23:16:00.000-05:00

a stroll in the brisk autumn air

podcasts of The Splendid Table and This American Life

homemade chocolate chip walnut cookies

a silly sweet text message

reading a few pages for fun

child's pose

a chat with my mom

email from far-flung friends

not having to clean up the kitchen after cooking dinner

two new pairs of shoes

snarking with a friend

humorous malapropisms in student essays

an unexpected compliment

a colleague helping me carry my lunch to a meeting

fast, flowing pens

nerdy TV sitcoms

a soundtrack of joss stone and mindy smith and neko case

the tapping of computer keys

warm arms drawing me in for a big hug

new magazines with features on stress and simplicity

funny tweets

daily bliss: falling into fall

2010-09-22T22:36:00.000-05:00

I'm munching the addictive combination of candy corn and roasted peanuts, and sulking because I missed the super harvest moon, due to a cloud-filled sky. I'm rubbing my eyes after grading essays, and stressing about all the work-related responsibilities that seem to be piling up. Falling into fall, indeed.

Sometimes it feels more like flailing.

I long for the long, lingering days of summer. I dread the short, stunted days of winter.

But I do, despite my current issues of overwhelment, love fall: crispness. Brightness.

Thin sweaters and dark jeans.

Soup and cornbread.

Transitions.

Happy autumnal equinox, y'all.

twd: coffee break muffins

2010-09-21T07:25:00.000-05:00

When I discovered espresso powder years ago, my chocolate cakes and cupcakes were transformed by a richness and depth they previously lacked. There was one unfortunate incident where an espresso powder laced kahlua chocolate cheesecake kept a group of poker players up much of the night, a reminder that this magical ingredient packs a caffeinated punch. Overall, this one ingredient wields great power!

Dorie's Coffee Break Muffins include two forms of caffeinated goodness: strong brewed coffee and the aforementioned espresso powder. Besides adding layered coffee flavor, these ingredients create that same depth and richness I discovered in my chocolate treats. Only slightly sweet, this muffin would be a perfect vehicle for a layer of nutella, don't you think?

I ate my muffin after lunch yesterday, with a mug of hot vanilla green tea instead of coffee. I didn't want to go to class jittery.

I like these muffins—they're rich, simple, and different. They're not my favorite, but I will make them again for brunches or coffee hours.

Thank you, Rhiani, of Chocoholic Anonymous, for selecting this week's TWD recipe. Check out her blog or buy the book for the recipe.

daily bliss: twd rewind: rosy pear and pistachio tart

2010-09-20T22:23:00.000-05:00

A few Friday nights ago, after a too-long hiatus, my wine club reconvened. This crisp evening, we sipped Rieslings from around the world, gathered around a chiminea, talked, laughed, snacked, and reconnected. Bliss. Besides a bottle of Dr. L Riesling (tasty, only slightly sweet), we brought this delectable tart, made with farmers' market pears soaked in a bottle (an entire bottle!) of shiraz.

I just love the facets here, so very jewel-like. I prepared the pears Thursday night, and allowed them to soak overnight in their poaching syrup.

By Friday afternoon, the wine had seeped in, creating a gorgeous deep blush, and an extra-boozy flavor.

My assembled tart wasn't quite as pretty as the one in Dorie's book, partly because my pistachios had been roasted and hence lost some of their bright greenness. But I loved the layers of sweet crust, rich pistachio custard, poached pears, and candied nuts. A stunning dessert for a wonderful night. My friends deserve nothing but the best:)

daily bliss: cookbooks

2010-09-19T23:03:00.000-05:00

My students are reading Michael Perry's memoir Truck: A Love Story this semester. I chose Perry because he's a reasonably local author with an amazing range of vocabulary, emotion, and experience. Many of my students are, ah, infrequent readers, and I'm trying to show them that reading can be...fun.

Last week we read the second chapter, in which Perry waxes poetic about leafing through glossy seed catalogs during the cruel winter months. He also describes his collection of thirteen cookbooks in some detail.

Many students were not impressed by the detail.

They thought it was...weird.

Me? I get it.

My cookbook collection skews to the pastry arts, with a smattering of vegetarian cookbooks, and a few all-purpose tomes: Gourmet Cookbook, Bon Appetit Cookbook, a vintage Betty Crocker Cookbook like the one my mom used when I was growing up, and G's contribution: Bittman's How to Cook Everything.

On Thursday, my copy of Dorie Greenspan's latest book, Around My French Table, arrived. I settled in with a cup of coffee, and slowly turned the pages, marveling at the delicious recipes, gorgeous photos, and delightful stories.

I use cookbooks mostly as guides and inspiration, and my typical approach when cooking a new dish is to find several different recipes for it, and then create my own version, using loose measurements and relying on my senses to properly prepare the dish. Most of the time, this strategy results in tasty meals.

Cookbooks are comfort, possibility, offering up food as more than mere sustenance; rather, they show us food as craft, as companion, as love.