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.