daily haiku: 6/100

one dozen cupcakes

and one tiny chocolate cake

i love babycakes.

daily haiku: 5/100

warm maple syrup

thick homemade bread french toast

bourbon soaked peaches

daily haiku: 4/100

bright kid, drug problem

eighteen months of jail time

two weeks out, he's dead

for LS, a former student, who died last week of a heroin overdose

daily bliss: madison memories

a lovely little venue 

Last weekend G and I attempted to live like we're still twenty-something years old (we're not.even.close.) and attend three concerts in three days:

Sugarland, in a stadium venue in Milwaukee. Jennifer Nettles and Kristian Bush (and band) played and rocked and danced and generally made merry on a gorgeous stage.

Andrew Bird, perhaps the best whistler I've ever heard, lulled me into half-sleep with mad violin skillz and cerebral lyrics at the Overture Center in Madison.

Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers and Carbonleaf jammed, rocked, ballad-ed in the intimate Majestic in Madison.

We survived...

On little sleep (staying with G's friend C! who hosted us and several others for a UW football weekend, which made for some interesting late night conversations).

On caffeine.

On adrenaline.

On lazy Sunday afternoons column writing (check out the full story of our Madison Farmers' Market meanderings at Corner Table for Two) and football watching, er, listening to.

We traveled from one concert to the next, alert and awake until sometime after midnight Sunday night/Monday morning as we wended our way home, two and one half hours, on dimly lit highways. We took turns driving, keeping one another awake until the miles disappeared just as the raindrops gathered into a shower.

Between the concert going, we explored Madison.

I've waxed poetic about Ann Arbor before, a city with a certain urban liberal hippiness that I adore. In many ways, Madison reminds me of Ann Arbor, except it's not quite as urban. It's less...snooty. And more easygoing.

We spent several hours promenading around the Capitol Square Farmers' Market, observing the varieties of human behavior—a man carrying a tiny dog in a special backpack, a man decked out in prison orange playing Bach on a piccolo—and purchasing novel vegetables—edamame and cranberry beans.

We spent time—and money—in foodie shops, including Fromagination, a cheese and gourmet foodstuffs store, and Barriques, a "wine cave" featuring a wall of 100 wines under $10.

We ate. Oh, we ate well. Couscous and hummus dishes at Kabul, an Afghan restaurant on State Street.

vegetarian couscous

Roasted veggie and montchevre omelets at the Daisy Cafe and Cupcakery. (and cupcakes—mocha chocolate, raspberry lime—to take home).

roasted CSA veggie and montchevre omelet

Summer rolls and red curries at Sa-Bai Thong.

spicy jungle curry

And we drank.

Some wine (thanks, C!).

A fabulous glass of fresh squeezed orange juice.

Lots of lattes and au laits.

what am *I* doing with a latte?!?

***

Monday I walked around work on a Madison high, sharing my experiences with anyone who would listen.

Tuesday I crashed.

Tonight I'm wishing for my next trip to Madison to happen...soon.

daily haiku: 3/100

red berries bubble
white loaves rise, fall, rise again
jam and fresh hot bread

daily haiku: 2/100

foghorn moans steady
soft laughter effervesces
lingers into dawn.

daily haiku: 1/100

quiet damp grey sky

roads still slick from last night's rain

traveling inward.

daily bliss: autumnal equinox

pie pumpkins at the madison farmers' market. photo by ggg

The alarm buzzes. NPR's "Morning Edition" flows through my bedside radio. I roll over and groan. Six a.m. is not going to happen this morning. I stay in bed, willing myself to roll over one more time and land, gracefully, on my feet, on the floor, and start the day. 

Welcome to the Autumnal Equinox, a day I spent wishing I was wrapped in a blanket on my couch, drinking steaming beverages, watching incense undulate, and listening to the interplay of raindrops and foghorns. 

Alas. I had to spend six hours at work, explaining Aristotelian rhetoric, sitting through (boring) meetings, and grading student blogs. 

But when I came home from work, I slipped Simon and Garfunkle's Greatest Hits in the CD player and worked through 30 minutes of thoughtful yoga. Then, I turned on the Gilmore Girls and drank cafe au lait. I shopped online. I prepared for class tomorrow. I ignored the stack of final drafts needing to be graded. I diced veggies for black bean soup and mixed up corn bread. 

In short, I gave myself the afternoon to settle into the increasing interiority of the new season.

And, I felt peace. 

daily bliss: farewell, summer

Dahlia, a late summer blossom

Despite overwhelming sleepiness, I walked to the Lake after work today, wanting to enjoy one more hazy summer afternoon of wave watching and sun drenching. 

Trees everywhere are loosening their leaves, and the nights come quickly and chilly. I reach, once again, for my trusty fleece jacket and lightweight scarf, before heading out in the evenings. 

My stomach yearns for warm soups and cornbread, for red wines over whites, and for quiet days at home, spent holed up with hot beverages, meandering conversations, and long cooking projects. 

Farewell, oh Summer of Fun, a summer beyond imagination, a summer beyond wonderful, a summer beyond full. My heart overflows with gratitude for the sheer abundance this season provided. 

And now, we begin Fantastical Fall...

I can hardly wait:)

daily bliss: fresh from the garden

In a byzantine system that's too complicated to explain here, my English Department colleagues are sprinkled across the great state of Wisconsin. Occasionally, conferences, workshops, and/or projects bring us together. 

Yesterday I headed North to join a few of my favorite English Dept. friends to work on a Lesson Study project. Afterwards, I stayed at A and R's farmstead, and we set about exploring the garden. 

This week the weather shifted—the air suddenly smelled of fall, the chill came quicker in the evening, and lasted longer in the morning. As we walked through the garden, tomatoes and beans gave way to hardier squashes and tenacious herbs. Cute pie pumpkins and one baby watermelon lay plump amongst dying vines. 

We clipped and snipped and lifted, and headed indoors. R marinated tofu with a mixture of honey, soy sauce, sriracha hot sauce, sesame oil, and rice wine vinegar. The tofu baked until it was golden and fragrant. I julienned zucchini, lemon cucumbers, and one lone carrot while A cooked rice noodles and set out the goodies—including mint, basil, pea shoots, and arugula—on the table to create our own Vietnamese Spring Rolls. 

These rolls were beyond fresh, and absolutely scrumptious. I quickly learned the process: place a rice paper spring roll wrapper in boiling water until it was thin and flexible. I spread the wrapper on my plate, squiggled hoisin sauce on the wrapper, and then began layering the tofu and vegetables. I rolled and tucked until I had a somewhat neat looking packet, dipped it in peanut sauce, and took a bite. 

Each flavor, from pungent to spicy to sweet, melded together in most bites, and I eagerly rolled my second roll. 

We sampled, er, drank a paper bottle (read: box) of organic Torrontes, and talked and laughed as we continued to fashion our own dinner from the abundant ingredients on the table. 

To finish the meal, we ate the flaky peach and apple turnovers I made for TWD before processing tomatoes from their garden.

***

This morning, I experienced nirvana in the form of a tiny BLT—sustainable bacon, local lettuce, cherokee purple tomato, and homemade buttermilk bread. As I drove home, I gave seriously consideration to eating some sustainable pork products on occasion. They're so delicious, and sometimes I have a hard time remembering why I'm not eating it in the first place...stay tuned. 

twd: flaky apple and peach turnovers

mini apple turnovers with hot pink sanding sugar 

"These itty bitty turnovers are...a pain in the ass!" 

This sentence bounced around my head for the 30 minutes it took me to assemble the little treats last night. The fruit, particularly the crispy apple bits, wouldn't be folded under the increasingly soft dough. My frustration grew, and I folded and stretched the tiny bits of dough into a rough semi-circle. 

I decided to make the turnovers diminutive because, well, my stomach is becoming less tiny by the day and I partially blame the delectable, irresistible weekly TWD treats (as well as a bevy of beverages I've enjoyed this summer). I would sample one of each kind—apple and peach—and then give the rest away, or tuck them into the freezer for a craving day. 

The turnover dough is fairly simple to make, and nicely waits in the refrigerator when you need to leave for an impromptu Sunday afternoon corn roast with your boyfriend's parents. 

The fruits take no time to prepare. A tiny dice, especially for the apples, makes the folding easier. 

It's the turnover assembly that's tedious. 

But well worth it—these tiny little pies are delicious, with a dab of fruit surrounded by flaky, tangy crust. Mmmm. 

Thank you, Julie, of Someone's in the Kitchen, for selecting these tasty tiny treats!

mini peach turnover

twd: chocolate souffle

Ahhh, souffle. The breath of life. The magical transformation. The delicacy. 

The intimidation.

Reader, souffles are...easy. They're easier than pie, simpler than cake, and so very delicious and satisfying. Think of the voluminous eggs as a vehicle for flavor, and you have the secret to souffle. 

I whipped up a quarter recipe of the souffle Sunday evening when I was a) beyond sleepy; b) drying out from a little too much boxed pinot grigio the night before; and c) attempting to unpack from the weekend, pack for the school week, catch up with my family via the telephone, and prepare for classes today. 

My batter filled three small ramekins, and while the rise wasn't super impressive, they still billowed aloft for a few shining moments before sinking, gracefully, into deliciousness. 

I enjoyed my souffle with Dorie's vanilla ice cream and felt almost virtuous eating this simple dessert. (yes, i am aware that this is stretching matters a bit). 

Thank you to Susan of She's Becoming DoughMessTic, for selecting this recipe and allowing me to discover the truth about souffles. Check out her delightful blog, filled with recipes and culinary adventures.  

daily bliss: bittersweet

Friday: the neighborhood is awash in haziness. The Western sky suggests a watercolor pastel painting, each shade of sky and clouds, of trees and ponds, melding into one another under a gentle fuzziness. 

My feet trace the steps of so many summer days, following the sidewalk's curves under trees that are beginning to turn from green to gold, unleafing themselves over lawns. 

I stop by the elementary school playground and pull myself aloft on a swing, pumping my legs until I reach that shimmering moment of queasydizzyecstasy, and shiver my way back down to the ground. Gradeschool aged girls, playing on the other swingset, tease one another, "do you have a boyfriend?" they ask one another amidst peals of giggles. Yes, I want to answer, imagining one of those girls is my lovesick fourth grade self always watching from the outside as other girls walk hand-in-hand with the cute boys to the edge of the playground and—some of them—beyond. 

In a spot of undeveloped long grass, a family of deer sits, munching the blades, turning their pert heads this way and that to watch me watch them. 

As I meander by the pond, swarms of gnats and lake flies fill the air with so much mad life, or lust, I'm not really sure. I watch a graceful, long necked bird sweep through the air, hovering just over the water's edge. 

The neighborhoods are quiet at first, and then loud music bumps out of a room here, and a voice breaks into laughter there. "Come on over Sunday, we're going to fry out," booms one man, from a screened porch party. From an upstairs window I hear "Hi!" yelled by a brave boy, right on the edge of puberty, his voice betraying his hormonal tumultuousness. "Hey Blond Girl!" they all yell and giggle, as I, already walking by the next house, raise my hand in a wave.

The mainstreet is lined with flags to celebrate one more summer holiday, the last in the trifecta that marks the passage of time from Spring's potential through Summer's fruition to Fall's harvest.

I feel a collective effort to savor this long, last weekend of Summer before Fall demands our attention, with vibrant color and inescapable intensity, with heartier fare and savory vegetables. With school days and football games, increasing grey skies and chilly nights. Corduroy and cashmere, clogs and heels. 

I pack my weekend bag with the fabrics of summer: light cotton tees and dresses, khaki shorts and miniskirts, shiny spandex bathing suit tops, sandals. I add in the layers of fall: fleece, scarves, hooded sweatshirts. 

Saturday and Sunday: We drive North, and the road through the reservation pops with autumnal color. The hot days quickly give way to chilly nights, which we stave off with warming beverages and hot campfires. Sunday night we all settle around the fire, laughing, talking on the surface and diving deep. Slowly, we leave the circle of the fire and settle into sleep, knowing that the morning will bring about a bittersweet ending to this last fling with Summer's sun.

Monday: We drive South, and think of fall. Somehow, the colorful trees seem more prevalent today. The coffeehouse radio station obliges our quiet introspection with a steady stream of quality songs, old and familiar, new and true. 

I climb the stairs to my apartment and ignore the bags that need unpacking. I recline on my couch, willing a little daytime sleep to come, but despite the fullbodied tiredness after a long weekend, my eyes won't stay shut. I lace up my walking shoes and head outside, determined to drink in just a little more sunshine. 

I cook dinner, check in with my parents and brother, all of whom I dearly miss. I have to remind myself that work beckons tomorrow, that students are submitting their first paper drafts. My brain can't quite wrap around this return to responsibility, and all I want to do is blog and journal and daydream just a little while longer...

Ahhhh. 

Potential. Fruition. Harvest. 

Ahhhh.

Spring. Summer. Fall. 

Looking for my new rhythm. Trying out this new balancing act. Thinking of my favorite yoga poses—half moon, tree, dancer—which rely on drishti (focused gaze), balance, and a letting go of fear-of-falling.

I bake a bittersweet chocolate souffle—tackling a dish that requires, above all, patience, to allow the air to expand in a glorious breath, allowing the cakes to rise to such great heights and nevermind the fall. A touch of sweetness with an edge of something a little sharper and bitter, like the crisp note of autumn air after a warm summer day. My heart aches, wanting just one more moment, day, week, month of summer enchantment...

I oscillate between acceptance of the changing seasons and longing for summer to linger. I ride the edge of liminality, I sojourn in the spaces in between...

twd: espresso cheesecake brownies

One year ago I joined TWD in hopes of baking more adventurously, blogging more regularly, and finding "my people" on the internet. These hopes have been fulfilled doublefold. Although my blog contains as much "food for thought" as actual "food," it has become a place where I can connect with my bloggie friends all over the world. And, although I've missed a few weeks of baking fun and don't always comment as frequently as I'd like on your blogs, I treasure my TWD readers. Thanks, y'all! Here's to another year of deliciousness. 

***

Several months ago I blogged about making a fabulous chocolate cream tart while Mom and Grandma, visiting for the weekend, watched. I wrote about how I like to bake alone, being particular (control freakish?) about the process.

Lately, my boyfriend G and I have been cooking on the weekends, and I've been teaching him how to cook some of my favorite dishes and sharing some of my comfort foods: summer succotash, peach pie, panfried okra. 

He must enjoy these lessons, since he suggested we create a newspaper column and a new blog to chronicle our adventures in the kitchen. It's definitely a work in progress, but you can stop by our Corner Table for Two.

This weekend, we planned on making several variations of guacamole to bring to our monthly wine club gathering, and this week's TWD offering, espresso cheesecake brownies.

Reader, I invited him to help me bake.

G buttered and floured the pan and basically—and flawlessly—executed all of the brownie layer steps while I attended to the cheesecake layer. 

I feel like I have grown as a baker as I've given up some of the control and accepted help in the kitchen. It's—gasp—fun. And the brownies?!? They turned out swell. 

The wine club loved the tri-layer treats, and offered up rave reviews:

"It's like a coffeehouse on my fork!" and "If I was hungry I'd eat the whole thing." 

Today my friend K requested that I bring them to school next week for our first coffee gathering. 

Thank you, Melissa of Life in a Peanut Shell, for selecting this tasty recipe!

daily bliss: teachers

This summer I saw my two favorite elementary school teachers. 

Mrs. M taught first grade and crated a fun classroom, complete with a corner called Australia that students could visit when they were having a "no good terrible very bad day." On one memorable occasion, she had to explain the concept of tardy to me, as my little friend and I would walk the short distance from my home to the school, meandering in ditches, following our whims and keeping a lackadaisical pace. In general, though, I was an excellent, albeit quiet, student, a bookworm with her own reading group (aptly named "pink") until I started joining the second graders for reading lessons. 

I saw Mrs. M at Morningstar Cafe, home of my favorite pancakes. Having seen my Mom a few weeks earlier, she knew the general details of my life, and kept repeating "how cute are you?" I beamed, suddenly that little girl again, so happy to be pleasing my teacher. 

Mr. K taught fifth grade, and he was innovative and fun. We read long chapter books in his classes, and played softball outside on warm Spring days. I remember heading outside to play ball, the song "Let's Hear it For the Boy" echoing in my head. Long after I was a student of Mr. K's, he took to playing Santa around town. One year we visited him, and my brother L, nine years younger than I, was astounded that somehow Santa knew so very much about him. 

I saw Mr. K at the Holland Farmers' Market, and he was in the thick of things, making a promotional film. He stopped action to talk to me and he kept repeating how proud he was of me and my achievements. He remembered the adjustments I faced in fifth grade, what with a new brother and a new last name. 

***

As I sit here on the Eve of Back-to-Schoolness, I think of my favorite teachers and how seemingly effortlessly they encouraged, inspired, and engaged me and many of my fellow students. I always loved school and I attribute much of that affection to my excellent teachers, who reached out to a quiet, nervous, imaginative girl and reeled her into the world of words and ideas and greatness. 

I often joke that my current job is a way for me to stay perpetually in school, and in many ways it is. Though I teach, I'm constantly learning. Students have so much to teach us about their lives, struggles, needs, dreams, stumbling blocks. The day I stop being open to learning from my students is the day that I should stop teaching. 

After an amazing summer far outside of my academic role, I'm eager to return to the not-so-Ivory Tower with my renewed energy and optimism, my new dreams and my new supports as strong foundations for the work I do.

I can't wait to talk about the joy of words, the frustrations of the blank page, the challenges and opportunities of college, and feminist approaches to vampire romances with my students. To engage, to learn, to delight.

daily bliss: what i did this summer

A grey, drizzly night, humid yet chilly. Summer is slipping away. All day I've been melancholy. All day I've been off: burning my finger with a rookie baking error, overcooking my vegetables, snapping at my Mom.

I vowed several weeks ago to follow the rhythms of nature's calendar, marking the seasons with solstices and equinoxes, but now that I'm on the eve of my official return to work, to the academic year, it's hard to remember that summer is still here. For another month.

My heart is so full that I don't even know how to gather the words and share them with you. Or maybe I do and I'm still scared to write them here. "Just write for yourself. You have to. You can't worry about who might be reading," he says, and I know he's right. And yet...

I queue up a selection of summer songs, lyrics of home and moments echoing in this otherwise quiet pink room. I make a mug of vanilla black tea laced with milk and sugar, which I sip for courage and sweetness and comfort. I resist the urge to pick up the phone and instead I tap these keys, my burned fingertip aching with every "c" and "d."

I sift through blog entries written on the other edge of this summer, when I had a simple goal—to enjoy a Summer of Fun, a summer of being me and not thinking about work, allowing days to unfold as they would. And as they did.

I read my bittersweet melancholy at the close of a school year, with all the summer before me, wondering how to find the rhythms of relaxation. A smile lights up my face as I realize just how simple it was to find myself, to fill my days with words and laughter and companionship and walks. A tear traces down my cheek as I now try to remember my way back to that other rhythm of alarm clocks, bubbly encouragement, efficient productivity, firm compassion.

I find an early "to-do" list for the summer, including 14 items, the 14th one being the pivotal item around which everything shifted into a kind of happiness I had almost given up on: love.

And I know there will never be another summer quite like this one, a magical season in which time flew and lingered, in which days stretched into forever and whole weeks disappeared. Moments that seemed inexplicably predestined, somehow, strange and familiar all at once. Hours that melded into one another and any worry of accomplishing anything other than just being alive and happy and real disappeared like the fog over Lake Michigan on a hot summer afternoon.

All I want is to bring this zen-like ability to savor life as it's unfolding into the next season—fantastical fall— and those stretches of time in which I wrangle more with others' words than my own, weeks that demand an extroversion that I've tucked away in favor of quieter connections, months that challenge the soul with ever more greyness and chilliness.

And yet. I know, somehow, magically, elementally, that these seasons too will be full of heart, of discovery, of bliss. And so I settle in, ready to slip into heels and shoulder school bags, ready to walk into classrooms and meetings, ready for new writing ventures, ready for music and trips, and ready for long meandering conversations that never end.

I'm ready for the fall...

daily bliss: i am...

...standing in my kitchen, peeling and slicing peaches.

...walking down the stairs, carrying trays of food to put on the grill.

...sitting on my couch, talking about a book.

...standing in my kitchen, saying a long goodbye.

...walking down the lakeshore trail, talking about blueskys and picnic tables.

...sitting in my living room, drinking in conversation and sauvignon blanc.

In all these moments, I thinkfeel happy. My heart swells with gratitude for whatever good fortune has aligned all these moments, this feast, these friends, all together on this day.

daily bliss: risk

"The day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." Anaïs Nin


roses, the american club, kohler, wi, august 2009

daily bliss: meteor showers

A cool August night. I step out onto my deck, talking on the phone as I watch the sky, looking for familiar landmarks of dippers and myths.

"If you can catch a few, it's amazing," he says.

My reply is interrupted with an involuntary "ooooh," as a long, bright meteor streaks across the panoply of stars in the blueblack sky.

Magic.

I hang up the phone, layer on fleece, and wrap my trusty pink pashmina scarf around my neck. I brew a cup of vanilla scented tea. I perch on a cold chair on my deck, arching this way and that for views of the whole sky. Nothing. I stand, eyes scanning the sky for a streak of brightness against the pinpricks of dying light, traveling so far across space and time. I bend my back, yogi style, to see the sky more perfectly.

I think of special relativity, and my most basic understanding of the phenomenon that perspective alters how we experience space and time and distance.

I think about this summer, how moments have seemed to stretch beyond eternity, how months almost seem like years, how new conversations seem to have been started before I was even born.

I catch a tiny meteor on the edge of my vision, nearly imperceptible as it trails across the bowl of stars.

I drink in the quiet of this summer night, the stillness even in my city neighborhood, the gentle din of air conditioners the only sound. And then the sudden, swift rustle of a small animal scaling the neighbors' tree, startling me into spilling the steaming tea all over myself.

I breathe in the sheer magnificence one last time, eyes searching the sky for moments of wonder, finding plenty, even if not of the meteor variety, and then head inside to sleep, perchance to dream serendipitous dreams.

"the most beautiful and most profound emotion we can experience is the sensation of the mystical. it is the sower of all true science. he to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer stand rapt in awe is as good as dead. that deeply emotional conviction of the presence of a superior reasoning power, which is revealed in the incomprehensible universe forms my idea of god." Albert Einstein

twd: brownie buttons

In honor of these diminutive treats, I--along with a small cadre of others--am writing a tiny post, in which I claim that these are good, but not great, simple to make and cute, but not, ultimately, the most satisfying of brownies I've ever made or eaten, all in the space of one sentence (though no limits were set on the length of said sentence, though the understanding is that it should be grammatically sound, yes?!?); Jayma of Two Scientists Experimenting in the Kitchen selected these wee goodies for our weekly recipe, and, as always, you can check out the other TWDers' narratives, whether long or short (select the full blogroll , or here for a list of one-sentence groupies).