January Quiet

I gave January the victor's crown early on but it's proving to be a tightly contested battle.  I changed my stance, I think it was on the 7th, and decided that I couldn't let moans and groans be my January song.  No one was listening to me whine about having to re-enter 'life' on January 2nd.  I'm trying to see this month for what it is instead of what it isn't. I've been thankful for the quiet.  

It's cold and dark, yes, and quiet.

I'm beginning to believe that the questions I have in my thirties will become answers in my forties. I'm not sure we even ask questions in our twenties.  While I find myself elbowing my husband more often to help me grab the word I'm missing, completely killing whatever conversation momentum I was building at the moment, I'm also finding less angst to accompany it.  I'm intrigued. 

Tell me more.  

My sister shared with me this article that I loved.  Oh it's good. Inspiring and all that. It led to a 'life conversation'. Those are always good and hard and best had when children in the next room are throwing handfuls of marbles up into the air to scatter and then find. 

Naomi turns eight. 

Myles is thirteen.

My window seat. 

TEA

:) 

Keeping Christmas

The hustle bustle and Abel's favorite place to play lately. 

Ramshackle, elfin collage. 

Verity and Abel rescinded their involvement in the Pageant this year. The wild star did not. :)

Paper Whiteth

This is successful summer ( 2018 draft)

This is the summer that the depth of any body of water, the height of any bridge was measured by the height of the BFG.  Could the BFG reach here?  Could the BFG touch the bottom here.  That's as tall as the BFG. I want to remember that.  

I also want to remember that this was the summer that we traded the beach for Walden Pond. More shade, more buoys, less waves and endless water, in a good way. 

I also want to remember that we went camping with success and with friends on Lovell Island in Boston Harbor.  And that we took the ferry and had a very successful road trip to Emerald Isle to see Eric's parents with two lovely stops in New Gretna on either side. :)

The Draft Vault Files of 2017 -this is a little ridiculous

So, all of my posts in 2017 remained in draft format.  And "lots" of them in 2018.  I wish I had just posted them.  Sooo self-conscious.  So, as I'm back to Dear Diary anonymity status, I'm considering an expose of 2017.  Don't hold your breath but 2017, yeah, that was a doozy of a year. I love getting older and being able to say that. I don't love the feeling that I JUST planted paper-white bulbs and that was in 2017 and now it's Christmas again already.  Christmas is supposed to take forever.  

I'll leave you with this gem written way back on Easter Monday 2018:  

"Is there a sleepier day than Easter Monday?  Clearly this is a rhetorical question because the answer is no. But is there ever a better day to eat chocolate eggs and drink very strong black tea to make up for the fact that you have to leave the house?  Another question I do not want you to answer."   

There's more where that came from. 

xo

may i speak to the school counselor please -from the draft vault circa 2017

For I reasons I can explain, I don't give that much color to the persons of Naomi and Verity here.  I broad brush scenarios and scenes and surround it all with a bit of humor.  But If I think about it -I don't really go there with many people in any forum be it a friendship, or a letter or even a teacher.  I like to let them speak for themselves.  But sometimes I fear that I sell them short.  And I know that it's going to be hard -hopefully not that hard to be the advocate that I know I will need to be for them.  No one can stand up for you, can speak up for you like your mom can.  Some people do this really well -advocacy, touching on the dynamic personalities of the children are blessed with.  I also really shy away from putting a label on my children.  I don't want Naomi growing up to believe that Verity is the funny one.  Says who?  I don't want to try too hard to decipher if I have an extrovert or an introvert emerging.

I was telling a friend that in my brief experience it seems that second-borns have a much easier time being themselves.  It's like the pressures off for them and they can go about their days exploring their likes and dislikes with ease.  The first-borns are paving the way -dipping their toe in to see if we freak out or not.  Second-borns seem to jump right in.  Or at least mine does.  Labels are easy and safe, but they worry me.

Accounting for Thanksgiving 2018

On Thursday a magazine and a notebook were purchased. On Friday the groceries were bought. On Saturday seats were counted, rooms were dusted. Naomi made placecards.  Verity fretted that Naomi was going to make her sit somewhere awful. In the afternoon vegetables were soaked in salty water to prepare them for pickling. Pie crusts were made, wrapped and stored away. On Sunday, nuts were roasted, vegetables too.  My lost Bon Appetit guide was found.  Naomi counted out the silverware, and vacuumed a room that had already been vacuumed.  

I had good intentions of making this post into many, one for each day, documenting the progress made for the impending feast....alas those hour-and-a-halves divided up didn't get me there.  But here are a few pictures to document the day, before and after the main event.

  

My salad was my thing and it made me very happy.  I based it off a delicious version I had a Flour Bakery one day on a whim.  Some ingredients: pickled veggies, spiced almonds, cranberries, mustard greens, parsley, other lettuce varieties, parmesan-garlic dressing.

Other notes: We ordered a very happy turkey who lived their life in western Massachusetts.  I made chestnut soup to start.  Emily made a delicious cranberry and fig dressing. Eric made cornbread dressing from scratch. My experimental pie was called 'honey flower' from this year's Food and Wine November magazine. Eric also made biscuits from scratch and my aunt brought roasted sweet potatoes and my sister-in-law brought a deep dish pumpkin pie. Whiskey sours were served to start. Okay now I'm rambling and I sound like i'm in a hurry.

I'll write back soon. xo

Thoughts in early May

On my dresser I have one of my mother's first business cards. At Home Antiques and Interiors. The business address was our home at the time, a nineteenth century farmhouse outside of Atlanta, Georgia.  The card features her sketch of window with shutters and iron hardware with a few bricks askew giving the impression of a house-front.  This must have been before she moved her wares to a booth in a large antique warehouse called Kudzu.  That building is enormous in my memory and smelled of old books, varnish, and filled with cool, wet air.  

I hold this card as a clue.  With it I try with some amount of desperation to unlock pieces of wisdom she might have shared with me today. We are all filled with such complexity that I don't claim to understand who she was fully, wholly.  But once a person leaves us we have a fixed number of memories to work with, to replay, to comfort and torment us.  As I revisit the moments I had with her, countless ones, I have to believe that I can continue to know and better understand her.  And the memories become clearer.  Scenes where she was once void I now can place her. Conversations that I didn't understand then, I do now.  I know what you mean, mom. Just not then. 

I don't know..

***

We went to New York City recently and part of me was excited to go and another part of me worried that it would be too painful to enjoy a city she loved and knew and a place she shared with me.  But it wasn't that way.  You have to be strong there and know your own mind and go your own way, and then the beast becomes friendly and magical. 

I don't know..

Reframing Lentils in 2018

Recently I realized that it wasn't lentil soup I was weary of, but of the label "lentil soup". It had taken on a stigma in my mind. Tired. Winter. Dreary. Hopeless. But I've reframed and reinvented the soup that we all enjoy filled with wonderful nutrients and flavor.  "What are we having for dinner?" Don't you dare ask me that question.  Hmmmm, why do i hate that question.  But now I say vegetable soup.  Now I say soup, winter soup, hearty soup.  With a baguette, ideally.  Lately I've been substituting the onion for a leek to begin. Always tomato paste.  Less cumin. Farro went in the other day and it thickened up to be more of a dahl to serve over rice. Yes there are lentils added for old times' sake.  Last week I added a big pinch of saffron that I had been saving for no reason in particular. Afterward I realized that mushrooms was the thing it lacked.  Next time.

Snow day.

Once we went sledding. 

    

Birthday Burritos.

Prolonging Joy

November 15, 2017

Hello. This morning I had this really wonderful, tragic poem drifting through my head. A poem about loss and love and heartache and anguish. Anguish is a good word. Fitting. I said to myself that if they wrote on my gravestone -the girl who never got over her mother's death- I would not be a disappointment. A tragic existence is my fate and that has a touch of romance to it which is helping me through this day. Today I will be in my little world of desperate and morose thoughts and they will keep me company. Because today is my mom's birthday. I went to Whole Foods and bought big delicious cupcakes for my children. And sushi for myself. Tonight I'm meeting my sister to wallow and wonder and wander together. I think I've written that line before. May we accomplish nothing but only mark the day. With every year that passes I realize what a wee babe my mom was when she died. She was still in her forties when she was diagnosed. 52 when she died. I had no idea how young that was at the time. I miss her every day. I miss her when i see a free range duck in the grocery store. I miss her when the leaves change color and when I see my daughters and niece perform in a play.  And I miss her on her birthday and dream about how we would have celebrated. 

 Afterschool afternoons.

 Abel cooks.

  I take comfort in knowing there is an Ian in the world. 

Headspace

Oh geez, I mean I know it's been a while but when I saw my last post -yikes.

I won't do you the discourtesy of apologizing for the distance that has come between us, but I haven't forgotten you or this space. Like an overdue phone call that gets harder and harder to make so it is the same for me with writing in whatever realm of a public forum this one is.  Nor will I even claim that I'm back!  But I am still here.  I'm thinking a lot, reading some, being my best self occasionally and my worst self more than that. I had planned to check in with you all back in June for many reasons but I had no words to write.  And I still don't know what I want to say.

But as I hee and haw and cope and summon courage and strength and exhaustion the days never fail to pass. Some of them are magical and most of them are ordinary, a number of them I'd like to forget and there are more than a few that I would like to try to remember. Abel turned two in September. Verity turned five on Friday! And Naomi is patiently waiting for her day to turn seven in January. I have so much to be thankful for and complain about. Do you know when I'm trying to be funny yet?

I will tell you that the bakfeit is still seeing lots of action which brings me joy.  This summer we moved to what feels like the suburbs of Cambridge and so we take to the bike a bit more to get a few of our favorite places.  The home was advertised with a note that the kitchen is in need of updating. Correct. Which leads me to share my next update.  

My meal plan is currently in shambles.  This does not bring me joy.  Recently my meal planning role models were in town and I learned that theirs spans close to two years now.  She started plotting hers out with no grandiose vision over 30 years ago by going through her cookbooks and picking out the recipes she wanted to try.  Simple enough right?  If she can do two years then by golly I command myself to getting back to a week at the least.  And I am doing that barely but it's not very gratifying because the haphazard approach and execution...and the kitchen.

I'm also selling houses. Which I know I haven't mentioned on this space and is the real reason why I've been called away on leave from here. Just kidding. No, but it's true. I'm pounding the pavement out there in the real estate world and seeing success and lots and lots of learning moments. It's been a challenge to have a legitimate reason to look at my phone. But I do not need to be looking at my phone while a child gets off the bus, ahem, or while they practice violin or when I first wake up in the morning. Good grief.  Boundaries woman.  I've also established that I don't like the word boundaries. It has a negative connotation in my mind.  But I am getting better at taking care of myself as my thirties continue to blossom.  For one i just downloaded Headspace.  Like literally just before sitting down here. And I'm buying another jogging stroller after giving my last one away because endorphins are mandatory these days, so says my PCP. I completely agree.  xo

  

And meet Henry George, the latest addition to the cousin army! Courtesy of little brother and superwoman Courtney. :)

Trainspotting

Yellow school buses. 

Graffitied dumpsters and gravel roads.

Telephone wires and clotheslines.

Lumberyards and silos.  

Heaps of autymobiles.

Rusty swing sets and sailboats sleeping. 

Smoking bonfires and white-fenced pastures.

Tractors and trees and rivers and oceans.  

Train travel.  There is nothing like it.  

If you get on board in Boston heading south sit on the right-hand side to have an uninterrupted view of the Atlantic Ocean.  Any compass can tell you that but it feels like a secret.  The clarity of thought I stumble upon with a glimpse of the wide open sea from my polyester, cushioned Amtrak seat catches me off guard every time.  All your hopes and dreams and the possibility of it all overwhelms you with distinct suddenness.  All your questions of why and how and why not and when bombard you with a peace that does surpass your understanding.  And then in just a moment it flits by your window and you cross over another border and pass in and out of the next tunnel with no chance to look back.  The landscapes constantly change.  The backsides of towns and the lives lived there -one can only wonder and marvel that this world really does exist and we are such small, little things.  

Sure there are delays and dirty bathrooms and the always grumpy cafe car employee ready to heat up your Hebrew National hot dog and roll your eyes as you try to decide between a Cliff Bar and Nature Valley Oats and Honey.  You might even for a second believe you are behind the Iron Curtain travelling on the Trans-Siberian railway when they tell you that bagels are unavailable this day.  I wonder which ruler is feasting at our expense.

But it's a wonderful thing this train, with leaky cars and a scattering of wet seats.  Kings and Queens traveled this way with crowds lined up to wave them along.  It's a lot easier to imagine your royal lineage here than from the coach car at the back of a plane or leaning into the back seat to reach a fallen toy.  And these children I'm travelling with -I can even imagine at certain vague moments that they are fellow passengers whose destination is unknown.  :)

The Meal Plan: Different These Days

The Meal Plan these days looks a little different.  It's simpler.  There's more repetition and less lengthy recipes.  More trips to the market for a fewer number of items.  A chicken roasted with potatoes on Wednesday means chicken soup on Thursday and a thermos of soup on Friday for lunch for a few.  I've rediscovered tortellini and gnocchi.  We eat lentils though not as many for now.  Butternut squash over rice is back as a seasonal mainstay.  Naomi despairs.  However she has made peace with it after I warned the table that we were going to be seeing a lot of it over the next few months.  And she can't help but taste it's sweet, satisfying flavor.  I serve more polenta and roast vegetables.  I turn to the back of boxes for recipes and search less on the internet.  I'm buying more salted butter.  And when I make bread I use less yeast and let it rise overnight in the refrigerator.  I learned this method from a neighbor after I tasted her "traditional german" bread.  There is batch cooking when possible.

Here's my latest back of the bag recipe found on the back of Bob's Red Mill shredded unsweetened coconut and adapted slightly.    

Munch Bars

1/4 cup of butter

40 large marshmallows

1/2 tsp vanilla

2 cups rolled oats

1 cup unsweetened shredded coconut

1/2 cup wheat germ

1/2 tsp salt

3 tbs brown flaxseeds

2 tbs cocoa powder

melt butter and marshmallows.  add vanilla.  remove from heat and add remaining ingredients, mix well.  press into greased 9x9 pan and chill.  Cut into squares and serve.  

Summer's End

Recently I spent a few moments going through the heap of papers piled high on our china cupboard.  I emptied the drawer of its contents - dozens of halfway drawings and penciled scribbles.  Little mounts of scissor clippings with crumpled and chewed up paper.  I put most of them in the recycling bin.  For a winter stint Naomi drew and designed napkins which were small rectangles colored in various ways.  I kept a sheet of those.  Not much time has passed and the heap of papers has mounted again.  Naomi brought home a crow's nest made out of a paper plate with these foam eggs that I keep kicking around the floor.  And yesterday she brought home a small book that she made at school with a tiny drawing on each of the first few pages.  She told me I may not like it.  I told her that I certainly did and wondered why she might think I wouldn't.  Maybe because of the complaints I registered about her bird's nest and eggs?

Verity keeps squirting my nice handsoap into the bath water.  And then she squirts the hand lotion in there as well.  This tries my patience very much.  If you can read between the lines I think you would agree that this is not worth yelling about.  I told her it was my soap and my lotion.  And she disagreed.  Don't get into an argument with your 3 year old.

But, DO go into Lush next time you can and buy a bath bomb for your child or yourself.  Cheap thrills.  It cures all ills, truly I tell you.

The first morning I had to myself, with Abel, after school drop offs, I made cookies while he slept.  I added one too many scoops of sugar accidentally and burnt two batches.  Today I'm trying again with a recipe for Saffron-Vanilla Snickerdoodles I found on Heidy Swanson's beautiful blog.

I told Naomi to make sure she brought back her book to school so she could finish it.  And she told me that she needed to finish it at home.  Why can't she finish it at school?  It seemed like the perfect piece of work to pick back up during the next "choice time."  Hurry up, keep moving, on to the next, grumble grumble.  But this one I'll keep.

Last day of summer.

Making Soup and Missing People

This evening I stepped into the kitchen not sure what to make for dinner, but I knew enough to start by chopping an onion.  As I stood chopping I knew it would be a soup and I had in my brain a visit I recently paid to my upstairs neighbor's kitchen where I saw on her stove a wonderfully aromatic and beautifully bubbling soup.  It looked so delicious and tempting and I was perhaps most struck by the size of her saucepan.  It was small.  When I usually make a soup I pull out my big dutch oven and I have leftovers on my mind and second portions and a bit for Abel to puree and so on.  My big American way of doing things, I can see now.  But hers looked so perfectly small and portioned.  Just the right amount.  So Swiss, I can see now.  No worrying about how far it would stretch and how many meals I could squeeze out of it -only the task of preparing something nice for the day's last meal.

My chopped onion turned into a very adapted version of The New York Times' North African Bean Stew with Barley and Winter Squash.  This is the third time I have made this dish and the second time I have severely altered it as dictated by my pantry.  

Being extremely nostalgic this week adds a heavy dose of meaning and emotion to whatever task I complete, including making dinner, being a parent, and the other general duties of a functioning human being.  I'm holding tightly on to this, what is it, sadness?  Grief?  It feels bigger and more encompassing that those two words.  Whatever it is, it's all mine.  It's comforting and even cozy knowing that It belongs to me and nobody else.  This is a line or a thought from Michael Rosen's Sad Book which is a wonderfully satisfying read and like the recipe it's something my sister shared with me.

On Saturday my neighbors with the small batch soup, who we lived beside, or underneath rather, for four years moved away.  I miss them.  Our house feels so quiet without their footsteps overhead to remind us that literally we are not alone and that life is best lived in the company of others.  

This week also marks the ninth year of my mother's passing.  It pains me so much to admit it has been that long since our circle has been broken.  I know she would be so happy with our life's work... kids, dreaming big dreams, constantly trying to lasso the moon.  But acknowledging this is like giving yourself a pat on the back.  Great job, Melissa.  Keep it up.  So completely unsatisfying.   Really this kind of reassurance can only be given by a mom.

  Should I apologize for bringing you into this mire?  No, I'm glad you shared.  Really?  Yes, really.  Alright, thanks.  Sorry anyway.  

 

Since you have the link to the Stew I made, I'll give you my version with all the changes I had to make.  But the leeks really do make it incredible.

NYT's North African Bean Stew Editorialized

Chop an onion, enter your zen place, you are an empty bowl now, and then saute it.  Add a handful of chopped cilantro stems.  Saute some more.  Add all your spices including a couple tablespoons of sweet paprika.  A cinnamon stick.  A couple of teaspoons of cumin, coriander, tumeric.  One teaspoon of cardamon and freshly grated nutmeg.  Add a few tablespoons of tomato paste.  Stir it into a delicious sludge.  

Add your vegetable broth and then some additional water until your pot is extremely full and about to spill over.  Add another teaspoon or so of salt and bring to a boil.  Add your barley, bring back to a boil and cook for 15 minutes uncovered.  Then add your chopped winter squash and 1/2 of red lentils.  Tonight I used potatoes.  Cook another 15 minutes or so.  Add your beans.  Tonight I used chickpeas but you can use a variety of options.  Taste and adjust.  Serve with chopped cilantro on top and some yogurt.  And if you don't have barley on hand, which I didn't tonight, serve it over rice. 

 

  

  

Accounting for Easter

Here we are in April with snow on the ground.  I'm sticking to my guns that this past March was the mildest I can remember.  I don't do statistically weather research or I'm sure this could be confirmed.  We are doing okay.  Abel is six months old and Verity turns three and a half tomorrow.  We will be celebrating this occasion with cupcakes and musical chairs.  Naomi is happily and finally five.  Kindergarten is on the horizon.

We hosted on Easter this year.  The lamb did not taste as nearly as good as the rub we made for it.  The couscous with peas and mint was a subtle victory.  The roasted beet salad was present and the beehive cake was pretty to look at.  As was this baby boy.

Saint Helen

Tonight Verity reminded me of Helen Keller before Annie arrived.  I'm able to articulate that after reading to the girls the moving biography by Deborah Hopkinson, Annie and Helen.  What an amazing pair.  You really must read it.  I'm on my way to request "The Story of My Life," Helen Keller's autobiography.  She is my hero and inspiration this week as I try to remember what really matters in this life.

My sister forwarded me this blog post and it gave me such a chuckle as I have similar curiosities regarding social media and the perplexities that go with this whole moDERN world we live in.  Oh Helen, what do you think?

January Musings

This holiday season I finally threw the DIY garland party I had wanted to throw since I flipped through last December's Domino magazine.  It felt triumphant to invite people into my home, ready or not, and see them walk away with something beautiful.  

Now it's January and I'm brushing myself off, craving Heidi's winter salads and wondering what I want January to look like.  We had a very, very simple fall.  I didn't send Naomi to school this year and Verity enjoyed the company of her big sister, along with one morning a week in the company Miss Emily, a warm and lovely lady who welcomes little children into her house for a playschool.  

Baby Abel joined us and keeping him alive and well was about the only task we took on.  Still, we have a relatively blank calendar in front of us.  It looks so nice and clean, but I think I might be adding a couple more to do's so that we can survive these cold winter months and grow weary of each other with a few gaps in between.  We'll see.  The month seems filled with possibilities, even if only to consider them.  

Dark Bark Secrets

Last night I made a "test batch" of the holiday bark that I've made the past couple years.  I want to give some away but I also want to eat it every day this coming week.  Just a little bit here and there -after lunch, during rest time, (Naomi asks me what I'm eating, "nuts" is my reply.) and most importantly when Eric is with the girls during bedtime routine, Abel is somewhere and I'm in the kitchen gobbling down whatever I've told them they can't have.  This is when being an adult really pays off -overeating and stuff.  Because like the girls I've been staging an oatmeal protest at breakfast, much to Eric's dismay.  And unlike them I can get away with it.  So I make up for lost time in the kitchen when I should be helping but instead I'm standing by the sink pretending to wash dishes.  And now that I have a trusty candy thermometer, I finally cook the sugar and butter and honey long enough where it turns out like a brittle.  

Salted Honey and Chocolate Bark

12oz. saltine or Ritz crackers

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup honey

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

1 tsp. baking soda

6oz. bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, melted

1/2 cup dried tart cherries or sweetened dried cranberries

2 Tbsp. coffee beans, crushed

1/4 cup roasted hazelnuts, chopped

2 tbsp. roasted cacao nibs

2 tsp. flaky sea salt (use less if you have only kosher)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Using your hands coarsely crumble crackers onto a parchment-lined baking sheet.  Toast until golden brown about 8 minutes.  Let crackers cool.

Meanwhile, heat sugar, honey, and butter in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring occassionally, until butter is melted.  Fit saucepan with thermometer and whisking with frequency bring to 300 degrees, 8-10 minutes.  Remove from heat and stir in baking soda (mixture with bubble vigorously).  Quickly pour mixture over crackers, spreading to coat evenly.  Let cool completely.  

Drizzle chocolate over cooled crackers; immediately top with cherries, coffee beans, hazelnuts, and cacao nibs and sprinkle with salt.  At this point I gently press it all down to help it stick together, but you don't have to.  Chill until hardened.  Break bark into pieces.  It can be made 3 days in advance.  And it also keeps really well in the freezer.  

*Bon Appetit December 2013

  

Abel looking.