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

To all the girls I've loved this year

Last time I posted I shared a shortlist of some things I'd like to write about—one was loving Relief Society. I've been serving in three different presidencies of this unique women's society in our ward (aka church congregation) over the past year—first as a counselor, and then as president since the first week of January. I'm already on my second set of counselors and secretaries; a big shakeup in our geographic boundaries took place in the spring and necessitated rebuilding the organization from scratch. I've loved all three groups of leaders. I'm excited that in this new configuration we're finally hitting our stride. It's a joy working with such intelligent, funny, compassionate, energetic, kind, faithful, imaginative, motivated, inspired, and no-nonsense young women. So far, I've been the sole Resident Ancient, but that doesn't bother me in the least. I've never been hung up on age differences, in either direction. These women are my sisters and friends, and it's a privilege to work together to serve the nearly 200 women (and many families) we have responsibility for.

The way we get things done looks something like this:

I bet these pioneering gals could do a pretty righteous hand jive themselves:

From the University of Utah archives—Relief Society, 1916.

Tomorrow I go out for Indian food with the first presidency I worked with last year. Last week, I had happy contacts with both the counselors who endured me as a fledgling president: one just birthed a gorgeous baby on the bathroom floor of her home (unintentionally, though she is Superwoman), far far away in my old home state, and the other called me the same day to tell me I'd "won" a home pedicure at her house. (She said it wasn't a rigged contest, but when everyone wins, isn't that rigged?) In two days I have my weekly meeting with my newest counselors and secretary, so we can do that hand jive thing that we do. 

It's hard work and takes lots of coordination and even more practice. I'm in good company. I am blessed, and lucky.

In my right mind

Whew. I actually made it through Blogtoberfest without missing a day. Now that November has come, it feels like time for another goal. I considered a writing task—after all, 'tis the season to put 50,000 words together at breakneck speed (see NaNoWriMo and its offshoots). I tried on a number of other possibilities for size: working out, practicing music, going sugar-free, reading this, learning that, and so on. These are great ideas and I hope to get around to them all, but for now I've concluded that simply committing to some healthy right-brain activity every day could be a real help to me this month. So, that's as specific as I'm going to make it at the outset: let the right brain come out and play.

I spent some time this morning reading different articles on the subject of brain health and making notes about activities that stimulate the right and left hemispheres. Very interesting. It's not hard to recognize that I desperately need more balance between the two—better brain order, better mood management.

Today I got a small start by shifting much of my right-hand work over to my left. Try it sometime; give your own non-dominant hand a chance to pull its weight and see if it doesn't slow you down and make you far more mindful of your tasks. Good thing I didn't have to be at church till 1:00 p.m. For fun, I also tried a silly little exercise I found online: With a marker or a crayon, draw a self-portrait. Upside down. With your non-dominant hand. Then sign your work. Still upside down. My Geo in highlighter green was laughable and, as in a bad dream, had forgotten her clothes. But she must have felt fully dressed because she was certainly smiling (no teeth though). Sorry I didn't think to scan her before I threw her away (after dressing her). I might try to draw her again soon, and if I do, I'll try to remember to introduce you, if I can persuade her to be modest.

I may eventually do some left hemisphere workouts too, but it feels right to begin with some creative, intuitive, non-structured relief. Care to join me?

Love, Lefty

Other people's produce

Found it! Now I can claim my SWEET FARMERS MARKET BAG, for FREE! Want to meet me in the park for all sorts of earthy delights? Here's the info:

Any day I have hair is a good day

It's April, my month. I'm happy to welcome it. It's completely committed to spring—none of this one tentative foot in front yard violets and one foot still in winter business. Even if April happens to bring us a chill here and there, we're going forward into budding and blossoming life, and not backward. I woke up this morning feeling green and interested in putting extra energy into positive thoughts and language. Last month I was sick a long time; this month I want to be very well.

Ironically, I spent the 1st day of my month stomach-sick. Rob too. I had a reprieve long enough to have a lunch date with Bec o' my heart and spend a couple nice hours just talking. That was a break I was grateful for. She's such good company, and the sweet potato fries at Guru's are worth getting sick again for.

(Yesterday, the first day Rob and I came down with gut rot in earnest, all either of us could get successfully down was dried mango, a gift from our friend Paul. If you get this bug, I suggest you have somebody pick up a bag for you from Costco. And drink lots of water.)





(Not many left. See?)

Bec o' and I were celebrating our birthdays today—that was the excuse we used to go out anyhow. Before she came by to get me, I spent the morning cooking up a batch of an ancient Mediterranean beauty treatment—Halawah—to give her along with a cheesy note. Has anybody else tried sugaring before? It's strange and wonderful, not too painful, and is even nice on toast. I tested the stuff out to see if it actually works, and—voila!—I am defuzzed! I'm going to test out an original recipe next time, with rose water. Interested?







(Sorry, no action shots. Maybe next time.)

My other project today was finishing up an announcement design for my cousin and his bride-to-be. One more reminder of the season—pink! green! Their wedding colors! The combo puts me in mind of tulips. Two lips, get it?



(Last night was Pick Yer Pantones night. That's always fun.)

Speaking of colorful, Bec o' and I were discussing an idea for one of our next meetups: a trip to the wig shop to try out some new hairdos. This is actually more than just fun for me, though it's sure to be that. This alopecia I've been wrangling since my surgery has turned aggressive in the past few months, and if it keeps going this way much longer, we're all of us in for a rude shock. Baldness! Ack! Devastation! O, vanity! It's funny, and I do so try to appreciate the humor in the situation, the way the current attack has played out; this go-round all the big patches which have ejected hair are hiding beneath the veil of my part. I seem to be crossing the line between alopecia areata and alopecia totalis in a sneaky way. The people who know I have this disorder say, encouragingly, "Oh, you can't tell at all! I don't see a thing wrong!" All the while, a quarter of my head and rising is attemtpting to embrace my inner Sinead. It's as if my scalp is trying to spare us all the sight for as long as possible. One day I'll wake up and it will be like my hair fell out overnight.

I'm working on coming to terms with what seems inevitable. Rob tries to downplay it, bless his loving intentions. I have one friend who seems to get it, and he is losing his hair himself this week to chemo. He tells me he is "pissed on women's behalf" because it's not so acceptable to go around sans hair as it is for men. He tells me, perhaps a little too optimistically, I'd look "fantastic and boldly beautiful without the bandana." But this is a man who has yet to see me in person.

Anyway. I asked Rob yesterday what color wig I should get if I ever go that route. He joked, "Chartreuse." Don't put it past me. If I have to lose my own, I may invest in technicolor. I'll take a flamboyant wardrobe of coiffures, thank you. Lots of people are stocking up on beans and wheat to see them through hard times. Me, I think I'll put away some henna tattoo kits and some synthetic bobs for leaner days.

For now, I've decided to adopt the philosophy that any day I have hair is a good day. If my hair finally goes, then I'll pick something else to appreciate.

Like tulips. Two lips, get it?







(I look positively shaggy in these! The grand illusion!)

Anybody want to donate some locks of love?

Sick day action shots

Rats! I was down for the count on what is typically one of my best days. But I wouldn't say my Friday the 13th was a total bust. I mean I did get to catch up a little on three of my favorite things:


SLEEP


STARGATE


and SEGULLAH.

Better luck next time, eh? (That would be in November.)

To all the friends I've loved (and neglected) before

Maybe in part because I'm a pretty hardcore introvert by nature, I wrestle with a chronic character flaw which some of you may be able to relate to, one that most of my loved ones have already taken me to task for, repeatedly—namely, my tendency to lapse in communications. See, it isn't just my blog that sports big gaps—you should take a look at my Gmail inbox, the stack of unanswered letters on my desk (thank heaven for auto-pay, because I have had this same dumb trouble with bills for years), and probably most regrettable of all, the old messages on my answering machine. I'm better than I used to be—now and then I catch up and stay that way for a minute—but I am always struggling to discipline this part of myself. Why? Is it ADD? Adult-onset autism? Narcolepsy?

One thing's sure—it's not because I don't have excellent friends. Since I was just a tiny almost anybody's who's been willing to take me on has proven to be remarkable, the best of the best. Funny, intelligent, kind people are almost without exception the sort I've been lucky enough to connect with. Even my pets. I mean, really, I have one of the dearest, truest, hairiest little comedians on the planet eating from a dog bowl and sleeping on a ratty pillow on my back porch. I am also related to great people by blood and marriage. My neighbors are even decent folks.

So, when Lisa Jones left a plaintive comment on my last blog post because I've been off exploring another black hole of non-communication, I thought I'd better review the situation. Again.

Frankly, I've grown bored with beating myself up and since it's never done much to advance my evolution anyway, I'm going to simply say, YES, Lisa, I do remember you . . . with love. I appreciated being your friend back in the days we were neighbors. You're still on my list, and always will be. I hope you'll try me again, if you dare, for I'd like to be in touch.

Same goes for you, Amy O. Same goes for you too, Melissa O. and Liz C. and Miki S. The list seems crazy endless, and chances are, your name is already on my Great List of the Madly Neglected.

I love you, friends. Honest, I do. This won't probably won't do much to change my socially wayward nature, but here's something I thunk up that sounds fun. If you know me, and I don't care how well—that means if you just know me from reading this blog—and you want to play along, here's how. I recently inherited about a brazillion blank postcards and notecards from a friend (the irony is killing me), and also, while cleaning my basement I found more than one set (won't confess how many) of Christmas stamps from previous years (you guessed it—my great intentions never materialized into holiday mailings). This means I'm all set up to correspond. I actually really love old-fashioned handwritten mail, the kind that travels from my front stoop to your mailbox (and vice versa), via friendly blue-clad postal workers (just count all the human hands involved!). Here's the game: If you will email me your snail mail address I will happily sit down and send you that very day a love note. I might even refill my fountain pen for the occasion, if it still works. Who knows, maybe this will be the beginning of reform for me. (Let's not hold our breath though.) Anyway, it sounds like fun and something I can handle. I'll even send a note to somebody else you care about if you'll tell me who needs a postcard and share the addy. By the way, my email address can be found in the top right corner of this page. My Nativity stamps and I will be ready and waiting for you.

This will hopefully help me get warmed up for celebrating my special holiday in a few weeks—March Forth. I thought this year I would celebrate by . . . are you sitting down? . . . catching up on some phone calls. The purely recreational kind, not business. I know, unheard of, huh?

I'm off now to do some Bollywood with Hemalayaa, but first here's a song I want to dedicate to you, my friends, who mean much more to me and have more of my gratitude and love trailing after you than you're likely to ever know. xo

Multitasking

You know, it's really true what they say about not eating after five o'clock

—it makes for better sleep. So do flannel sheets, in my wintertime opinion. And the best dream helper of all (aside from a clear conscience)? A great bed. I do not live in an expensive home, but friends and lizards, this pea-detecting princess has a right fabulous mattress to retreat to each night, or in the wee hours, as the case may be, next to her loverly sleepmate. After too many years on a lousy futon, I am a convert to comfort.

Tonight I did all the right things: early dinner/hungry but not ravenous, check; evening walk, check; happy feelings, check; flannel sheets, check; turned in at a decent hour, check; cushy mattress, check; husband beside me and allowed his free five minutes of back sleeping before entering Deep Snore (whereupon he is urged onto his side), check . . .

So, how come I can't sleep? It doesn't feel like an insomniac night.

Actually, I know. It's because I have not been writing. About anything. And my brain is begging to journal and blog and compose stories—it's telling me so all the time. And it's screaming at me now. WRITE.

But I need to sleep. I'm worn out from recent events involving extended swings of emotion and little rest (e.g., family wedding, beloved out-of-towners, friend's funeral, more beloved out-of-towners). Can we strike a compromise, brain? Just for tonight? A few notes and then please can I rest, and you can trust that tomorrow I will be able to remember how to fill in the details, somewhere? Let's at least try.

Cryptic, but for the sake of sleep:

• I edited Opera Miss' recordings and made her an audition DVD for the BYU School of Music
• iMovie drives me nuts
• Pandora.com = internet music heaven
• I was a living voodoo doll in Pleasant Grove for the love child of Gene Wilder and Harpo Marx, and then I hugged him
• Sixty bucks and a Savers' coupon = fall wardrobe
• If I want to wear it then who says it's out? (See above)
• Best potato pancakes of my culinary career and maybe my life
• Sewing plans with the French General
• Advent—a day late and a candle short
• Tribulation—patience—experience—hope
• "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" has great chords and they sound even better when we play them together
• Pero and juicy ripe pears while reading a Leslie Norris story aloud
• Our December traditions
• The Passion Players, maybe?
• Going for a downtown candy window walk, and at a nice clip(-clop)
• Learning to keep my big fat flappin' mouth shut
• Old linen from Gary of the Tiaras
• Being able to smile at myself in the mirror
• Skirts are taking over my life

It's funny what keeps folks up at night, isn't it? Before you question my lack of profundity, ask yourself, "What keeps ME up at night?" At least for me it wasn't bad brain chemistry, this time.

Y'all schlaf gut now, y'hear?

Off to catch the next train to Slumberland,
Geo

Sam I am

What were you doing?

I'm feeling inspired by the lovely and talented I I EEE tonight. She wrote a great post recently in response to a meme she caught from her sister. Apparently she was still contagious when I stopped in for a read, because now I've caught it too. Better cover your mouth—you might be the next one to get it.

What were you doing 20 years ago?

•I was a rising hair design starlette.(I know—you'd never suspect now.) I loved doing color, cuts, and shows. A big opportunity came my way, but I decided against it.
•Teaching part-time at Von Curtis Academies.
•I was makeup artist for a fashion photographer in Salt Lake. (Ditto the above parenthetical exclamation.)
•Seeing a fella who brought both blessings and extreme toxicity into my life, and who (a couple years later) introduced me to Rob. I will always be grateful for that.
•Dealing with my parents' divorce.
•Getting my life together.
•Posing for the best set of photo booth shots of my entire life (I have been a heavy user of photo booths most of my life.) They were so great that an older artist friend took them from me so he could draw my portrait(s). QUESTION: How come I only got to look that way once in my life? (Okay, four times, if you count each of the photos individually.)
•Drinking my first maté from a gourd through a silver straw.
•Living in the greatest apartment ever in the old Knight Mangum house on Center Street. Oh, that porch! AND it was on the parade route. But my upstairs neighbors flooded their apartment once and ruined some of my books and a piece of art I loved. Then again, I had a great Romeo and Juliet sort of bedroom window which allowed me to make dramatic escapes, and there was a secret passageway which also led underground to the outside through my closet; both of these were very important features for a strange, anti-social creature like myself.
•I lost my dad and then a dear friend to suicide, very close together.
•I developed a serious aversion to telephones that I still deal with today. I bought my first answering machine.

What were you doing 10 years ago?

•I'm so tired now from thinking of what happened 20 years ago, that I'm not certain my brain can calculate any more years properly.
•But.
•I was living with Rob (married) in a little dirt cheap ramshackle rental of a house with a tiny out-building which contained Tryst Press in all its claustrophobic glory.
•Taking a nap on the living room couch when a piece of ceiling fell down on me.
•That might have been the year I duct taped every window and door of our house once when I freaked out over an earwig invasion.
•Gardening.
•Renewing a dear friendship with a bestie from high school whose life was by then almost the polar opposite of mine.
•Working in Young Women as stake camp assistant.
•Online journalling. (It was called Cinema 13.)
•Seeing through the center of the block into my in-laws' kitchen window from my front porch.
•Trying to adjust to the change of having my grandmother nearby and very needy, and becoming her caretaker.

What were you doing on 9/11?

•I was sitting in the backroom of our new house, working on the computer when Rob came in and told me what he'd just heard on the radio. We looked it up on our Mac (didn't have a TV then), saw what we could, and I went into shock.
•I cried a lot. And prayed.
•My girlfriend called from L.A. and my sister-in-law called too, but I wasn't able to talk at all. I was beyond words for quite a while.
•Rob and I went to my grandmother's and watched the tragedy replayed over and over on CNN. I was hypnotized by grief and disorientation.

What were you doing 5 years ago?

•Spending more and more time taking care of my grandmother, and we were getting near to having her move in with us.
•Struggling with a lot of illness centered in my reproductive system, and had major surgery.
•Back in school, studying photography.
•I was a bishopric counselor's wife. (They must not run background checks on the wives, huh?)
•I was released as ward Young Women president (my second stint) and made ward historian. (I'm still doing that job, even though I'm back in YW again too.)
•Playing Scrabble.
•Eating at Chuck-A-Rama and Golden Corral against my will, with regularity.

What were you doing 1 year ago?

•Getting through the aftermath of one of the most difficult experiences of my life.
•Dreaming of moving to coastal Oregon.
•Trying to purge my basement (still haven't finished).
•Blogging.

What did you do yesterday?

•Woke up singing Vampire Weekend's "Mansard Roof" and listened to as many versions as I could on YouTube.
•Spent almost the whole day writing, and had a great time.
•Turned off the phone's ringer and call-screening, and popped in new earplugs so I wouldn't get distracted.
•After Rob left to go hiking with his brother, I built a nice fire in the woodstove, pulled my dog's pillow close by, and the two of us hung out while I wrote.
•Drank hot rice milk with Pero and carob.
•Listened to StoryCorps podcasts while I took a lunch break, and then iChatted with a childhood girlfriend for a little while.
•Attended a concert with Rob in the evening: the Zagreb Saxophone Quartet, from Croatia. They were fantastic!
•Listened to a friend's dream and kept my interpretation to myself.
•Finished my very first little film script, submitted it to a small competition, and made the postmark deadline with no more than a minute to spare. (This is big, but only because it represents my for once keeping a promise I made to myself.)
•Stayed up so late that I had a big fat headache all day today.

What am I doing today?

•Fasted and prayed.
•Made us late for church, received the sacrament.
•Sang "Mansard Roof" in the hallways at church, and at my in-laws'. (Rob's mum says I have an earworm.)
•Ran around in the rain and my hair went wonky.
•Wore too many shades of red, and loved it.
•Did rapid walking laps at church, with my sister-in-law who needed some love therapy.
•Again, kept my interpretation of friend's dream to myself.
•Listened to Leslie Norris recordings and shared them with a friend in Boston.
•Went for a walk in the moody wet to watch the rosy sun go down.
•Held a fat baby.
•Had a big discussion with Rob about Prop 8, politics, and Tuesday's election.
•Passed on my own piece of chocolate cake, and ate some of Rob's instead.
•Listened to my Rob as he unloaded a sad heart.
•Learned the guitar chords to "Mansard Roof."
•Staying up late again, apparently. [sigh]

What will I do tomorrow?

•Make soup to eat now and freeze for later. Something Mediterranean.
•Play guitar.
•Do laundry.
•Think about pie.
•Go for a walk.
•Build another fire.
•Write.
•Forget to use spell-check.
•Tackle a pile in the basement.
•Maybe sell a couch.
•Borrow Ray's rototiller and chop up either: (1) just the garden, or (2) the entire backyard?
•Read.
•Have Family Home Evening with Rob and possibly someone else.
•Clean the bathroom? Nah.

<

I've turned into one of those women

who occasionally post a message like this:

Hey! Head on over to Segullah! I'm a guest blogger today!

Thanks for your kind indulgence.

Most sincerely yours,
Geo

Nie times three

First, this:
Please notice my sidebar and the link for donating to NieNie. If you don't know yet why it's there, please do read my previous two posts and, more importantly, check out C Jane's blog to get yourself caught up.

Second, this:

"Celebration of Hope" Balloon Launch
Saturday, 23 August 2008, time TBA (5:45/6:00 p.m. till ?)
Kiwanis Park, Provo, Utah

Please come prepared to launch your good wishes, prayers, and support in behalf of our friends. Helium balloons will be available for purchase at $1 apiece. Every dollar will go to the Stephanie and Christian Nielson rehab fund.

Come and enjoy food, entertainment, hot air balloons, and most of all, extending your love and help.

If anybody wants more details, Denae is the woman in charge, and you can email me—pogofig at gmail—for her contact info.

Third, this:
Rob and I hiked to the Y in honor of Nie, who reportedly has a habit of running all the way to the top and back down again. I can't say that I even kept a respectable walking pace the whole time, but it was a lovely perambulation just the same. We took our headlamps so we could find our way back down the mountain. I think we'll do it again and take our guitars next time.


Trailhead.


A gentle start.


Foreshadowing.


Good advice for life!


The happy hikers.


Pretty stickyheads.


Magpie nest.


Japanese girls, out of breath.


Give this wood a sniff—it smells like hard-breathing, sweaty hikers.


Friendly, half-naked, law-breaking trail enthusiast (friends also on motorized bikes not pictured).


Geneva Steel's still on the map.


Sunset.


The top of the Y.


Tired feet, big city.


Resting on the Y.


See the temple?


Due west.


Utah Lake and beyond.

*sigh*