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.

haiku: cloud

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

daily bliss: finding inspiration

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

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

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

And I felt like a writer.

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

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

And I was inspired.

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

Words change lives.

How much I needed this reminder today.

what came first

Hold me.

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

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

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

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

haiku: autumn weekend

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

100 words: (bitter)sweet water sea

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

(Bitter)Sweet Water Sea

Sand swirls and beach grasses sway along undulating dunes.

The early evening sun streaks between grey clouds, illuminating

pink salmon orange striations. Whitecapped waves build, crest,

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

daily bliss: party prep

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

Whew!

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

It's good to be home.

daily bliss: stress relief

a stroll in the brisk autumn air

podcasts of The Splendid Table and This American Life

homemade chocolate chip walnut cookies

a silly sweet text message

reading a few pages for fun

child's pose

a chat with my mom

email from far-flung friends

not having to clean up the kitchen after cooking dinner

two new pairs of shoes

snarking with a friend

humorous malapropisms in student essays

an unexpected compliment

a colleague helping me carry my lunch to a meeting

fast, flowing pens

nerdy TV sitcoms

a soundtrack of joss stone and mindy smith and neko case

the tapping of computer keys

warm arms drawing me in for a big hug

new magazines with features on stress and simplicity

funny tweets

daily bliss: falling into fall

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

Sometimes it feels more like flailing.

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

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

Thin sweaters and dark jeans.

Soup and cornbread.

Transitions.

Happy autumnal equinox, y'all.

twd: coffee break muffins

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

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

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

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

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

daily bliss: twd rewind: rosy pear and pistachio tart

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

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

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

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

daily bliss: cookbooks

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

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

Many students were not impressed by the detail.

They thought it was...weird.

Me? I get it.

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

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

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

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

100 words: lost beats

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: jars.

Lost Beats

He emptied the closets, packing boxes and hauling them to Goodwill, saving the flannel plaid shirt that smelled of sandalwood and sweat. Sifting through books and CDs took longer; he flipped cover pages and scanned liner notes, tracing the handwritten initials. He turned pages, read marginalia, and lingered over the autographed, vintage copy of On the Road. He loaded the five disc player with music he always hated: classical, blues, jazz. He kept Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue, soundtrack to their third date. He opened the pantry door, gazed at the gleaming jars of jam, his final gift, and wept.

daily bliss: friday night lights

A crisp Friday night in fall: my parents drop me off at my best friend J's house. We drive a few blocks,  join the crowds heading into the stadium, buy tickets and some snacks, and then find our favorite seats: along the perimeter where the band sits when they're not marching on the field. Under the bright lights, cheerleaders shake their pompoms, and the football players take the field. Let's go WO! The band plays the national anthem, then the school fight song, sung to the tune of "On Wisconsin":

on you panthers, on you panthers, wearing black and white/we'll defend our alma mater we will always fight you rah rah/on you panthers, on you panthers, fight on for your fame/fight panthers, fight and we will win this game!


The game begins. The band returns. We watch precious little game, instead preferring to flirt with certain trumpet players, chatting with our friend M, who plays clarinet. We make plans for after the game—gathering at J's house for Little Caesar's pizza, pop, and an intense game of running or dancing on the Nintendo power pad (circa 1991). One year, we decide to prank call a boy two of us like, and A chirps, "i want your bahhh-dee" into the phone as we dissolve into giggles.

As such behavior might suggest, my friends and I didn't attend many dances, and very few of the dress-up variety.

Oh, but some of us wanted too. Years later, when my baby brother, nine years my junior, was on the snowball court (he may have even been crowned king), I was jealous.

I longed for those taffeta dresses in bright colors with matching shoes.

***
After a long five hour meeting, and a coffee date with a friend, I head to the mall in search of a dress to wear to my cousin's wedding, a bridal shower gift, and a clearance rack bathing suit to wear to the gym. The few remaining bathing suits are juxtaposed against racks of wool and down coats. I select two, clearly geared towards women with body concerns, with tags proclaiming "lose 10 lbs in 10 seconds!" I locate the nearest fitting room, nestled in the junior's dress department. Early teen-aged girls laden with bright, short dresses stand in line, or pop out of the dressing room. Several moms line the wall, arms filled with rejects.

I am the same age as these moms.

As I struggle into the miraclesuit (it takes longer than 10 seconds to squeeze into the super-spandex fabric suit), I listen to the girls talk about the dresses, their voices a mingling of English and Hmong.

I peel the suit off, and reassemble my professional attire. I buy the suit.

I drive home, calling G to make dinner plans. As I pass several small-town high schools, I look for bright lights and crowds; I listen for cheering and a smart cadence. Dark and quiet, it must be an away game.

I remember moments I've forgotten: sipping scalding watery hot cocoa to warm up at those late season games, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my unzipped jacket. A heart full of longing for a boyfriend, for a date to a dance, for a pretty dress, for a glimmer of popularity. A self blessed with smart, kind, positive friends; a loving, stable, supportive family; a mind eager to absorb, learn, grow; and dreams of endless possibility.

A block away from home, I spot the bright porch light, welcoming me home. Upstairs, hot pizza and a swell guy await. I'll put on my new dress and twirl.

Friday night...so full of lights.

daily bliss: list o' dreams

Image from the Ayurvedic Nonsurgical Facelift Massage Website

Tonight I'm inspired by G, who sent me a list of writing prompts because I'm sniffling and sleepy and...stuck. And my students, who boldly blogged about their "bucket lists." (note: i don't like that title. i prefer list o' dreams.) I offer you five things I would love to do intend to do in my lifetime:

1. become a certified yoga instructor, going through an intense, spiritually focused program, perhaps jivamukti.

2. suffer the pain and beauty of a small, tiny...tattoo (don't freak out, mom) of a lotus flower or an om symbol on the small of my back, off to the side. Or maybe both, intertwined!

3. marry the love of my life at a lake michigan beach wedding, in front of our family and friends.

4. publish a work of creative non-fiction (or fiction. or poetry. but probably creative non-fiction) in a non-academic medium.

5. attend a writing retreat, complete with small cabins and woods and water, devoid of technology and distractions.

daily bliss: kindness

It's 10:32. I'm sitting on the loveseat wrapped in my favorite fleece blanket, having just finished grading last week's blogs from two of my classes (total entries: 48). I switch to my personal blogger account on one tab, open facebook on another. I check facebook first. A colleague is challenging one of my favorite quotes on someone else's page. Something about kindness. How can you be against kindness as a philosophy? My internal reaction is anything but kind. (clearly, I need to revisit Buddhism 101). I reach for a tissue, but my timing is off, and my rhinovirus infested nose drips onto my laptop keys. I click over to blogger. Finally, my time to write after spending hours today responding to others' writing, leading them through other pieces of writing, and writing responses to explain their grades. My computer battery temporarily dies. It's time to reconnect to the power source.

Today I need that power source—that magical cord that refills the depleted energy. I want my creativity and words to spill forth on the page. I want my NaBloPoMo experience this month not to devolve into daily mediocrity. I want to work on the stories and poems shimmer in the corners of my mind. I want to be the enthusiasm for myself that I am for my students. I want to save some of that energy for these evenings at home, when G and I tap laptop keys side by side, discuss the magic of writing.

I know that once the rhinovirus departs my energy and optimism will return. But the overwhelming take home work will also return, from time to time.

How can I keep feeding my own creative writing spirit?

I will begin with kindness.

Always, be kind.

Somedays I need a reminder.

haiku: early fall

eight o'clock darkness
dipping temperatures
clouds of foggy breath