Climbing, clean

Brutal day, excellent day. A serious climb. There's so much to say, but I feel deeply quiet now at the end of it all. More tomorrow, maybe. 

But there is this: Thanks, Diane O., for praying to keep me safe on the road to Salt Lake and back. I'm  giving you some of the credit for the fact that our meeting was canceled and we didn't have travel, but instead were able to join our incredible neighbors at the temple. Way to represent, Diane!

I'm going to my sleep tonight grateful for love, and for the renewal of my belief that no one is forgotten. Not a soul at any time or in any place is forgotten. All are known by name and by heart, and loved.

The rest can wait. Goodnight.

It's oh snow quiet

Peace and paradox

Might shave it

Really, I might.

O, tidings oven comfort and joy

Our oven quit just in time for the holidays, refusing to heat above 95 degrees. I spent December experimenting with crock pot and stovetop baking. Experienced a couple of epic fails, but I did manage to make some tasty tin can yeast loaves; a right appetizing little birthday cake for my sister-in-law, Amy; and what will henceforth and forever be one of our house specials: a terrific and versatile white wheat stovetop bread that can be savory or sweet or stuffed. I'm pretty proud of my first-world survival skills. I did no Christmas baking this year, but on the upside, that did simplify my life.

Still. When a repairman came to my house a couple days ago and fixed the oven, it didn't take me long to warm up to it again (har har). Two mornings in a row now we've had celebratory Swedes for breakfast, another of our favorites. (Scroll down for my recipe.)

Swedes: Make this.

Smother like this.

Experience joy and renewal.

Now you're ready to smile at the world.

Do you think the old lady readers make me look like a librarian?

Also. Here is proof that the age of miracles has not passed. Behold, the stovetop birthday cake (but please ignore the DIY ghetto cake stand):

Looks good enough to eat.

Hold me candle, tiny dancer.

GEO'S SWEDES (SWEDISH OVEN PANCAKES)

This thick, custardy “pancake” is my favorite breakfast to make for my family or when company comes over. It dresses up easily and becomes an elegant meal. People often ask how complicated it is to make and are always surprised to learn that the process is almost entirely hands-off. The magic happens in the oven. Though I typically tweak it, the recipe I generally use as a guide originated with Kim Carlson from the Culinate Kitchen collection online.

2-3 Tbsps butter (when counting calories it also works to just use cooking spray in the pan)
2 cups flour (I like it best with 100% whole white wheat, or ½ whole wheat and ½ unbleached)
¼ cup sugar (brown is also lovely)
1 tsp salt
6 large eggs
4 cups milk (I typically use rice milk, but any kind will do, and of any fat content)
fresh lemon juice
your choice of toppings: brown sugar, raw sugar agave nectar, pure maple syrup, honey, Nutella, berries or other fruits, jam, etc. (a favorite combination at our house is lemon juice, brown sugar, and blueberries or homemade jam)

Place butter in a 10” ovenproof frying pan, preferably cast iron, or coat it lightly with cooking spray, and place pan into oven. Preheat oven and pan to 375 F. Combine remaining ingredients in a deep mixing bowl and blend well with an electric beater or a whisk. When oven has reached 375 F, remove hot pan and pour in batter. Carefully return pan to the oven (it will be full) and bake for 50 minutes. Check to see whether the center is set. If not, continue to bake, checking every 5 minutes. When the pancake is set in the center, remove from the oven and let rest 5 minutes. Serve warm, and any other toppings you desire. NOTE: Low-fat milk is plenty rich for this recipe.

P.S. Happy birthday, Anneliese! I wish we lived close enough for me to make you a weird cake too. xo

Mother bear

It may be too soon for you to tell, but I'm doing a daily photo challenge, CY365. It's fun to have a go at the prompts; I feel free to interpret them as loosely as I like. Today the prompt was FUR. I had an image in my mind, a shot of one of our microphones with the blimp--the fur cover that acts as a buffer against wind. The day took on a different shape than I'd anticipated and I never got that picture. 

I did, however, snap this quick image while bouncing and entertaining a new little friend today. I don't know how her mama would feel about naming her here so I'll just call her Peach Noggin. She herself had a kind of soft electrified fur on her head. As for me, today I was keenly aware of my furry sense of mother bearness. Peach Noggin's mama, whom I will call The Phoenix, and I share a mutual friend and we met while supporting this dear friend during a particularly rough trial. 

The Phoenix and I took to each other quickly that day. She told me about her years of suffering terrible abuses at home and in a circus of foster homes, before she finally sought and won her legal emancipation as a minor. She's tough and loving and honest, a great soul. Put out by the stories of unkind, unhealthy people, I told her that, sheesh, I'd be willing to adopt her myself and she accepted the offer with enthusiasm and good humor. Today she drove 3 or 4 hours total just to come and visit, to meet her new dad(!), and to show off Peach Noggin, who very obviously has a beautiful big soul like The Phoenix. 

Why isn't it the least bit weird to have a person who's a quarter of a century old calling me (mostly, tentatively) Mom, or unabashedly referring to us as Peach Noggin's new gramma and grampa? We haven't been married THAT long! But what a purposeful piece of sweetness. I feel guided to these relationships and I embrace this new chance to love and protect, fiercely. 

Don't let me catch you messing with my cubs, if you know what's good for you. Not these cubs nor any of  my others.

Everything counts

1-2-3-4-5,
6-7-8-9-10.

Today my dear father-in-law underwent surgery, the amputation of a pinkie toe, one of his balancers, due to a diabetes-related foot ulcer and a bone infection.

Start with 10, take away 1 and what's the remainder? Gratitude that it wasn't far worse. Flocking flustered family, self-medicating with hospital cafeteria tater tots and parenting shop-talk. Black humor. Physical therapy and patience. A good wife's assurance that, yes, she can indeed love a 9-toed man.


1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12.

Today I met a man who overcame some powerful addictions and turned away from a self-destructive and dis-eased way of living, and in time gave himself over to healing and faith. "12's my favorite number," he said; he was married on 12/12/12 at 12:00. He's a 12-step Jedi master. I liked him the first moment our eyes met.


1-2-

Today the paperwhites Rob planted for me in a shallow dish finally popped open in tandem with blooms. Talk about heady! Their perfume is potent, but Rob can't smell the fragrance permeating the rooms of our house. Odd; it nearly knocks me over. The wonderful things!

When Rob stopped at our favorite greenhouse for a poinsettia at the end of November, they were giving away warty blue Hubbards and selling loose bulbs for not much. Rob brought home a large squash and 3 nice big flower bulbs to force, and left them on the kitchen counter. In my fatigue I mistook them for onions and sliced 1 in half, then immediately recognized my moment of stupidity. Every time I look at the survivors I think of the 1 that almost ended up in stir-fry, but the 2 paperwhites which are left are lovely, and good enough, standing there quietly, remembering their fallen member.

Do they feel phantom flower pain? If they do it hasn't hindered them from listening to that inner voice which tells them to create beauty.

It's it's a Bardic blitz

January 2nd. Party's over. It's resolution time. How about a fun one? All of Shakespeare's plays in a year. Yes! I checked out four audio versions from the OPL today so I can listen while I work. Friday we go to see The Tempest with some friends from NYC—SO excited for that.

Are any of your 2013 resolutions on your list simply for the sake of joy? I hope so.

Are you ready, Prospero?

Uh-huh.

Benedick?

Yeah.

Iago?

Okay.

Alright, fellas. Well, let's go!