daily bliss: bridesmaids

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

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

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

Happy sunny morning

Happy spring awakening

Happy renewal

Happy. Happy. Happy. 

daily bliss: bubble therapy

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

holiday haiku: solstice

saluting the sun
fading behind snowfull clouds
shortest day this year

holiday haiku: luna

cloud covered
sublunary shadows
penumbral presence

holiday haiku: gathering (one)

snacking and laughing
gift giving around the tree
cooking together

holiday haiku: wrapping

scissors slice paper,
corkscrew metallic ribbon
trim ragged edges

holiday haiku: provisions

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

holiday haiku: twinkle

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

holiday haiku: crunch

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

twd: apple coconut family cake

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

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

holiday haiku: grading

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

holiday haiku: lazy

cozy pajamas
long cardigans fuzzy socks
from morning to night

holiday haiku: blizzard

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

holiday haiku: lights

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

holiday haiku: snow

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

holiday haiku: tunes

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

holiday haiku: stellar

crystalline constant
silent serendipity
crisp constellation

holiday haiku: wrapped

swathed in fleece blankets
undulating pashmina
and boiled wool slippers

holiday haiku: dwell

spackled gingerbread
confectionary sparkle
home sweet home

holiday haiku: shopping

wandering bookstores
target foodie stores galore
visualize delight

holiday haiku: tree

tinsel draped branches

threaded with tiny white lights

support memories

holiday haiku: tree trimming

unpack ornaments
vintage balls handmade baubles
hanging memories

holiday haiku: first snow

december begins:
swirling flurrying snowflakes
accumulation

daily bliss: gloom busters

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

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

bliss eats: sweet sunday soup

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

grey november sky
cold melancholy drizzle
curling up and in

100 words: sensuous

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

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

Chartres

Eiffel Tower

Versailles

the Louvre

haiku: fuel

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

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

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

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

dishwasher churning
swell labor saving device
lulling me asleep

daily bliss: saturday simplicity

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

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

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

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

twd: peanuttiest blondies

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

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!

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

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

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

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.