I'm back and I'm supersized!

This neglected blog of mine has been trying to coax me back into the writer's seat. I've gotten pretty bummed out by Facebook and internet haps in general, and think I need to revisit my own little corner of the web, dust off the ol' keyboard and make this place habitable again. 

I've got a backlog of subjects to explore, but the sunshine's so beautiful and I've been indoors too much lately, so a bike ride seems like the thing. What I will do is share a quick recipe before I pedal off into the morning light. 

I made this up last week as a survival technique, following an enlightening allergy test which left me—a long-time smoothie lover—dairy-less, banana-less and sugarless (among other things). This smoothie is not as sweet as you might be accustomed to, so you may wish to add some kind of sugar. I've noticed that when I'm off sugars for a while I rediscover the more subtle flavors of foods, so I actually like not sweeting everything up, but hey, no judgement. Do what ya gotta do to make your breakfast work.

Talk to you again when the sun's finished with me. 

BRIGHT STREET SUPERSIZE SMOOTHIE

1 cup frozen peaches, berries or other fruit

2 small handfuls almonds
1/4 cup coconut flour
1/2 tsp chia seeds
rice milk, or any milk you prefer
optional ingredients: vanilla, pinch of spice (cardamon is the bomb), a splash of rosewater, sweetener

Put frozen fruit, almonds, coconut flour and chia seeds into your blender. Add enough milk to bring the level of the mixture to 3 cups. Add optional items to taste. Pour smoothie into a ridiculously large glass mug from the dollar store and enjoy. Serves 1 to overflowing.

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

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.

Giving Thanks, Day 9

Parking the car in the sun, eating J Dawgs, and listening to John Cage & Lou Harrison with Rob. That's a feast.

Giving Thanks, Day 8

Gratitude du jour:

• the joy of movement, esp. walking fast on a crisp afternoon
• messages from faraway friends
• sweet irony: Last night a friendly neighbor sent over an ENORMOUS plate of gooey black magic box brownies, the kind that can turn deadly if you overindulge. After Rob and I cautiously sampled them, we decided we were in danger, so I loaded up the rest to share with a family I met with today. They were excited, and we were relieved. Hey, no emergency room trips for us! On my way home I received a text from a different neighbor friend, telling me she'd just left brownies on my porch and giving me full disclosure about her ingredients list, all healthy in the extreme. Those we finished off. 
• fresh flowers in the house (love gifts)

Giving Thanks, Day 4

Here's something I'm thankful for—people with humor, smarts, integrity, and imagination. I'm especially in awe of the ones who work hard to contribute something worthwhile to the world, and who encourage other people to bravely do the same.

Example: Filmmaker Werner Herzog. Over three decades ago he promised to eat his shoe if a young green colleague, Errol Morris, would finish making his first documentary, Gates of Heaven, and have it screened in a public theater. Morris kept his end of the bargain, so Herzog showed up as a guest speaker for that first Berkeley screening and he ate one of his slow-cooked shoes on stage. Luckily for us, another filmmaker, Les Blank, captured that moment and much of Herzog's philosophy and vision in his 1980 documentary, Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe. If you've got twenty minutes to spare, here's that film for you to watch, followed by a funny two-minute clip from Gates of Heaven (which, by the way, is one of my favorite documentaries of all time—I highly recommend it).

Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe by bakiniz

But getting back to funny, intelligent, creative people of conscience, I am blessed to know and love quite a few, and this evening I got to spend time with a bunch of them, and for that I'm really really grateful.  Plus, good pizza.

Giving Thanks, Day 2

Another list.

• a new recipe for a Dutch baby (apple)
• sitting in the sun by the lake and writing the opening of a new story
• hot water (Mary, you are so, so right!)
• moving furniture
• laying plans to pass on Big Pink to a friend who has the crappiest couch in town
• Simple Green + microfiber cloths
• listening to an enlightening interview with Dr. John Gray
• wearing Rob's sweater
• not watching Kung Fu Panda
• being raised by people who loved to give
• Mozart's Requiem Mass in D Minor
• finally locating a sweet spot in the house where we can play records on the German Telefunken without our steps causing the needle to skip across the vinyl
• take-out bean and cheese pupusas + that magical pickled cabbage-jalapeño stuff
• KUER's nighttime jazz
• swapping love letters
• more Mexican chocolate brownies
• cold, clean night air
• feeling well enough to attend teacher training
• being taught a new way to deepen gratitude: Each day, write down three things you're thankful for... and then ask yourself, "Why/how did they happen?" 

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving

When I woke up this morning, it was unmistakably November. The weather was grey and wet and blowy, as if it just had to distinguish itself from October. It's funny how often this kind of big announcement seems to come on the first day of month anymore.

But despite its dismal halloo, I am committed to loving November. It's good, this advent of Thanksgiving. I think I'll join the ranks of bloggers who'll spend the month pouring out some gratitude and celebrating the cup that runs over with blessings.

Simple tonight—an attempt at a list, since I'm not feeling my best today (I'm looking at you, moon), but nevertheless a decent start. I'm thankful for:

• a near-perfect breakfast smoothie
• Ibuprofen (always and forever, always and forever)
• Mirjam's hot water bottle
• horizontalilty + cushions + gravity
• the digital projector we're babysitting for the next few weeks + a white wall + decent speakers
• Napoleon Dynamite for bazillionth time
• baked winter squash
• Mexican chocolate brownies
• a kind housemate, husband, and friend (rolled into one)
• lonely train whistles
• remote control
• answering machine
• Debby showing up with a rented DVD (Thor), fried potatoes, and fresh pineapple
• a clean bathroom
• quiet
• a working furnace
• learning that friends in dire straits are being helped and supported
• understanding that it's not the end of the world to lose a day to illness
• one of my new blog ideas becoming a reality
• sharing good things
• chasing after change (a right healthy sport)
• evening chapter of The Hobbit

Gastronomic illumination

What a nice autumn rain fell today, but oh, the greyness got to me after a few hours. When I'm really hungry for light, bright strong flavors can sometimes take the edge off. Today I needed garlic, and plenty of it. Those of you who came within six feet of me after lunch can verify that I got my fill. Lemon. Vinegar. Garden tomatoes. Cumin—oh, cumin! You were my salvation! On my fight-the-gloom menu this afternoon:

Moroccan Batter Bread
Black Bean Hummus
Freshly roasted tomatoes
Shredded green cabbage and jicama, tossed with rice vinegar, honey, and olive oil
& what might be the last of the season's Charentais melon

These made the day feel not so dreary. Want to give my menu a try and see what it can do for you? Here are my two main recipes:

Moroccan Batter Bread

1/3 cup olive oil
1 small onion, chopped
3 cups whole wheat flour
2 tablespoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoons paprika
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
3 eggs, beaten
1 tablespoon honey
1 spilling over cup rice milk
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley

Preheat oven to 350F.
Spray a 11-inch loaf pan with cooking spray. Line bottom with parchment or waxed paper.
Warm the oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and sauté till soft. Remove from heat and allow to cool a bit.
Mix eggs with honey.
In a large bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, salt, cumin, paprika, and cayenne. Make a well in the center and pour in the oil and onions, eggs and honey, milk, and parsley. Stir until just combined.
Pour batter into the pan. Bake in center of the oven for 60-70 minutes, or until a toothpick tester comes out clean.
Cool bread in pan on a wire rack 15 minutes. Remove bread from pan, peel off paper, and cool completely on rack before slicing.

*******

Black Bean Hummus

2 cups cooked black beans
2 cloves garlic, pressed
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons tahini
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1 teaspoon ground cumin
a shake of crushed red pepper flakes
extra-virgin olive oil
a shake of cayenne (optional)

In a food processor, combine beans, pressed garlic, lemon juice, tahini, salt, cumin, and red pepper flakes and process until desired smoothness, scraping down sides occasionally.
Serve in a bowl and garnish with a drizzle of olive oil and a shake of cayenne, if desired.

Bon appétit!

The prettiest, cleanest party

So much for September's NaBloPoMo. I turned in my badge earlier, after not posting on the last three days of the month. Oh, well. I did finish my detox, which was far more important to me. And I will write about that.

I also hope to write about some other wonderful bits from the past few days:

• The dreaded cranberry juice blitz
• The grand entrance of Alice Chlotelle
• Winning a pedicure
• Loving Relief Society
• A shopping spree with Bec o' my heart
• Intro to Jillian Michaels
• Breaking my 30-day detox fast with one of Leland's eggs (not one that he laid himself, whew)
• The El Salvadorean pupusa as a soul meditation
• Buddha bowls—my new fixation

But for now, I am going to focus on a few special moments from today.

(1) Remember this girl? She dictated an email to her mother today, to send to me. It was such a sweet starting point for the day and the perfect intro to General Conference. The conversation in the middle was an aside, between Scout and her little interrupting brother, Finn.

I have not gave you to say something to me. I want to say, "I am the Queen of Everything." But I need to tell you something. I have the Queen recipe. It is called the Queens' Cookies.

It has: sugar, milk, cinnamon, and yummy yummy spices and cream and jello.

Finn: Eww! I don't like those kind of cookies! They taste like poo!
Scout: No, why?
Finn: Because I don't want you to be the Queen.
Scout: Well, I'm not really, Finn, I'm just writing it to Georgia.

Then, you set it in the stove with oil, and before you put it in the stove, you can cut it into cookie shapes too, and put it to cook for uhhhh, 11 minutes I think.

And then, I have another question: You can take care of the world, and I can take care of the world. I want to have a party on the next conference day, or today! And I want to invite all my cousins and aunts and uncles, and maybe Grandfather if he can come, and Ahma and Jeanne. I want to have that party, and I want it to be the prettiest, cleanest party about Jesus and us and how we can take care of the world.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoscout

That sounds like a great party. I'm in. 

(2) General Conference was so very very good. To prepare myself, I wrote a long list of personal questions that concern me, ranging from simple yes/no to onion layer to pert-near-impossible-to-answer, and I was amazed at how many of them were addressed in some way, either through a talk, through music, through quiet consideration, or through discussion. I am eager for tomorrow's sessions. I wish everyone I know would listen and enjoy the inspirations to be had at this conference.

(2.5) When President Thomas S. Monson announced this just after 11:00 a.m., I screamed for joy. I'm not a screamer by nature, but the sounds came all the way up from my toes, I'm pretty sure. Three good loud primal hallelujahs, of sorts, which left me with a sore throat!

Maybe one day I'll write more about why I feel so connected to the Tabernacle, but it has a lot to do with many special meetings inside, stake conferences I attended, including one at which I gave a talk and had the most remarkable speaking experience of my life—yeah, yeah, shy me. So many happy church- and community-related events. The Tabernacle is part of my neighborhood and I pass it all the time. Our friends were the caretakers. I remember when the fire took it, I stood in the street all morning in the January chill, crying and watching it burn, unable to tear myself away until I could barely walk home, I was shaking so hard and my feet hurt so from the cold. It was a heartbreaking time. And now it's turned to something sweet. Lucky President Monson, getting to deliver such a happy message this morning. I can't wait for our second temple to be built, in my own backyard!

(3) While the guys were at their meeting this evening, I recruited the ladies and kids in the family to trek over just before dusk to see the old Tabernacle. It was fun to see the traces of other neighbors' celebrations: balloons, a sign. I'm imagining some dancing in the street, lots of picture-taking. I was too busy screaming at home to join them. We played a while beneath a big sycamore, and went home with glad hearts. Happy day!

Time to celebrate!

Vanna White, eat your heart out! Here are the lovely and talented Ahma, Daffodil, and Eden

Slow grape to dawn

I'm going to be up pretty late tonight, watching over a steamer filled with grapes and more grapes, those amazing Salem Himrods I mentioned earlier this week. I'd give up and go to bed but they're too close to their turning point, and I'm not interested in making vinegar this go-round.

It's keeping my brain awake to recall a dream I had this morning. Rob nudged me before dawn so we could take a walk by the lake and watch the sunrise. That was a welcome offer, even after another late night, but he interrupted my dream mid-story, and I really wished I could go back and finish the conversation before beginning the day.

I've lost the context now—naturally this scene was part of a bigger dream. What I remember is that Rob and I were sitting together, talking in a room, as if at home, and were interrupted by a startling BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! on the door. I got up to answer, opening it cautiously. A 20something brunette stood there, a girl I didn't recognize, looking very disgruntled. She had come full of bitterness to lodge a complaint against me, about something I'd written (an email, like the ones I send out to my Relief Society, I think? or maybe it was a blog post? seems like it was something about visiting teaching) which had asked her to... it was something about a hand... lend a hand? give hands-on service? help with some important work? She pushed the door open wider with her right arm, so I would have to notice that her hand was deformed, having only knuckles and no fingers. Her body language seemed to scream out, See! I can't do what you ask! I'm crippled! I'm helpless! I didn't know what to say to her, but I took her hand as if in a handshake, and then I held it in both of my own and we stood there, looking at each other. I examined her hand and discovered that fingers had begun to grow, like tender sprouts. They were still very delicate and small, but I could see that she did after all have something unmistakable to work with, and some power to do. In her next breath and to my surprise she softened and thanked me for challenging her. With implied intimacy, she made mention of The Thing that I had said, indicating that I should know exactly what that Thing was that she was referencing, the special words that had made the difference to her, and she wanted me to remember and repeat them. "You know what you said," she told me. I couldn't recall any previous connection to her, so I had no clue which of my words had flipped her switch. I could sense that it was important for me not to alienate her at a moment when she was obviously moving away from her sense of helplessness and disconnection. I tried to think of what to say that would bring us to the same page without giving her offense. At last I said to her, "But it's your story, so why don't you tell it? Tell me your story." Sadly, before she could begin, Rob was coaxing me back to consciousness so we could go for that walk.

And it was a lovely walk. Rob was such nice company and it was a gorgeous morning. But I wondered all day what that girl might have said if only I could have stayed to hear her out.

Fabulous Fresh Ginger-Carrot Soup

 
Juice some carrots. Juice so many carrots that you get 3 cups of juice.
Now juice a healthy knob of ginger. 
Peel a nice ripe avocado.
Combine the juices and avocado together with:
2 tablespoons of agave nectar
a shake or two of red pepper flakes
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
a drizzle of flax oil and another of olive oil
Blend till smooth.
(You can also throw in 1/2 cup fresh coconut. I've not tried that yet, so can't vouch for it.)

Thanks to the Reboot site for this idea. My favorite—simple, fresh, delicious.
(Rob also gives it a thumbs-up, but my mum-in-law isn't fond of it. If you've got lots of carrots, then you've got nothing to lose by trying it yourself.)
Bon appetit, doc!

Ibuprofen

I'm still faithfully juicing and detoxing, but this weekend I had to make peace with the fact that sometimes it's just not a good idea to try to handle pain alone. Thank heaven for German water bottles, heating pads, and this:

*sigh*

But by tomorrow I'll be back to the bare nuthins of this here gardener's cleanse. I can be flexible when I need to. By the way, my fresh ginger-carrot soup is to die for.

I Love Onions

A little too much time spent in grocery stores today for my liking, but at least I came home with some of these beauties—

Eat and Sleep

New month, new challenges. I've signed up for a month of detoxing as well as a September-long blog-run. I made one of the best and simplest soups today and so far am feeling very enthused about my fruit and veg regimen. I'm off to a good start with that so now it's time to answer the NaNoBloMo daily prompt...

"What magical creature would you love to meet?"

The magical creatures I would most dearly love to meet are the two beautiful hummingbirds I dreamed of some years ago, the ones I am always thinking of, the ones that keep me looking to the future with hope. If you don't know what I'm talking about I'll tell you. I'll be guest posting for a friend soon and these birds are part of a bigger story that wants to be told.

For now, goodnight.

Miracles Are

Exhibit A.
You flew in the sky from there to here, to see your family, but you came to see me too, and I got to wrap my arms around you, and you are still you are still you are still my dear darling girl, my friend, my you-know-who. That's the sweetest blessing and benediction to a week that began with my getting dumped (thankfully not by Rob). That was the worst. You are the best. I love that we are still heart and soul friends and I hope I hope I hope that will always be our joy. I believe I believe I believe it will be.

Exhibit B.
You, amazing person who also flew in the sky from there to here, are exactly the person I expected. I don't brag like lots of people do that I am a good judge of character, because really, who can suss out that sort of information without a great deal of work and actual revelation? Such a declaration always embarrasses me. What I do claim is that it doesn't take long to love people, and every once in a while that feeling seems to predate the friendship itself. So when did I start knowing you, anyway? Logic says it must have been the first time I studied you in photos. But even then I felt a sense of recognition, so it must have been earlier still. Huh. Well, nice to meet you and finally get to say I like you out loud and to your face.

Exhibit C.
Thunder and rain. Comfort sounds.

Exhibit D.
After my third hamburger in less than 24 hours, I am completely ready and can hardly wait for The Great Garden Produce Purge of September. I wish I was starting my juice fast tomorrow, I am that tired of food, but I still have some prep to do. I am so ready to wash my brain and my whole system with veg and fruit. A full month of harvest season relief and bliss! It was that final devastating hamburger, the one at the ward picnic this evening, that pushed me over the edge. I don't care if I eat meat again till autumn. Or maybe ever. Ack!

It Followed Me Home

Some people find lucky pennies. I found a lucky squash, when I was passing the high school on my ride over to the track this morning.

It made me laugh. It followed me home. Okay, that's stretching the truth. Technically it didn't follow me—it rode in my bike basket. 

I'll cook it tomorrow so I can get two days' mileage out of this particular miracle. Maybe I'll find an onion in the morning while I'm out riding. A feral cucurbit and a feral allium fried in butter and sea salt—what could be tastier?

The Wonders of Wednesday

#1.

Rob and I have made frequent short trips to our favorite thrift store recently, on the hunt for audio components for making sound art. Today we shot across town to be there just after the doors opened for business. Rob got caught up inspecting equipment so I wandered into the book section. The store was crowded that time of morning—teeming with deal hunters (deal hogs?) with visions of eBay sales dancing in their heads, and maroon-vested employees, busily stocking shelves. I was standing there, scanning titles, hoping that one that would really grab me, when a maroon-vested book sorter with no apparent sense of personal space came up too close to me on the right, stretched his arm across my line of vision, and waggled a photo at a man who was nearby at my left.

"Heyyy, where d'ya think THIS one goes, Tom?" Maroon Vest chortled at his section manager, pleased with himself for making a good joke. Some book this is, huh? Har har!

Manager Man didn't answer him. Maroon Vest flapped the photo practically in my face, so I had little choice but to look. And, lo and behol', there was the smiling face of a friend with her husband and children. The picture was date-stamped 2003.

"I know them!"

Manager Man turned to look at me.

"I know those people. I'll take it."

Maroon Vest and Manager Man stared at me, blankly.

"You know them?"

"Yes!"

Maroon Vest then attempted to be in charge: "Umm ... so willya take it to them?"

I don't remember exactly what I muttered in response, but he reluctantly handed me the picture, like it might be a dangerous thing to allow to fall into the wrong hands, which mine probably were.

Not.

But I am keeping it.

Of all the places to be standing in that big store this morning! I'm glad Catherine and her family didn't have to go home with some stranger and serve as his bookmark, or worse, end up in the garbage. Glad I intercepted them.

So I got a book of flash fiction and this miracle, for just a buck and a half. Bargain!

Hi, Catherine!

#2.

I got to spend part of the afternoon with some of my favorite women of all time, enjoying haute cuisine at a popular local eatery: J-Dawg's. I had the enormous privilege and pleasure of working with these ladies in a Relief Society presidency and I fell in love with them in a great big hurry. Because of a geographic boundary change earlier this year that affected our church congregation, we had to kiss our little band of leaders goodbye with a promise to remain friends, a promise I intend on keeping forever.

The four of us decided to get together one last time before Heather moves to North Carolina with her family. J-Dawg's is Heather's special place and she complains that nobody will ever go there with her. I don't know why not. Best Polish dogs anywhere!

It was so so hot outside in the fancy parking lot with the beach umbrellas. It was fun. And I'm still in love with these girls. After Heather, Merideth moves next, and then Holly. *sigh* I'm counting on the phenomenon of the Great Provo People Magnet to draw them back someday.

Here's a quote from Ezra Taft Benson that I want to dedicate to these great women. I've watched them prove it repeatedly:

"Men and women who turn their lives over to God will find out that he can make a lot more out of their lives than they can. He will deepen their joys, expand their vision, quicken their minds, strengthen their muscles, lift their spirits, multiply their blessings, increase their opportunities, comfort their souls, raise up friends, and pour out peace. Whoever will lose his life to God will find he has eternal life."

We got to know each other through serving others together, and that made for some beautiful bonds. I'll always be grateful to God for raising up these friends for me. I love you, ladies. You've been miracles in my life. 


P.S. Thanks for introducing me to J-Dawg's. Deelish!

Rex, Heather, Holly, Long Tall Sally, Merideth, and me

Why I'm Here, Today, Blogging

Heather. Heather, you're the reason. Because it's your birthday, and because you are moving to my old home state long before I'm ready for you to go (which would be: never) and because you said something by way of sad goodbyes like: "We can still be friends!" and "I love you!" and "I'll read your blog!" Yep, that did it. You'll read my blog? That means I need to post something for you to read, right? Write?

Since I'm not a stellar communicator when it comes to telephones and letters and such, keeping in contact with people I love was probably the main reason I started this blog anyhow. That, and exhibitionism (the inhibited kind). We won't talk about which of the two reasons exerted the stronger pull on my psyche. 

I'm determined not to go all navel-gazey over this question of why I've been blog-ditching, or why I've considered so often pulling the plug for good. I'll just start blogging again. Write more, pre-edit less. Easy, right? Write? Keep in touch. Keep. Touch.

Okay, so today I got to hang out with Heather. For two hours! Who gets to do that, waltz in on somebody's birthday and steal their time? It was pretty presumptuous of me to just barge into her big day and ask for a chunk of visiting. I love it when I'm presumptuous. I love it more when there's no objection. Thanks for reinforcing my bad manners, Heather. And thanks for the bagel date. I had fun even though there was that sad thing happening in my heart every time I looked at you and thought about how you'll soon turn into a Tar Heel, many miles from here. *sniff*

So I guess I'm lucky I was here to crash Heather's birthday today. I had a bad mushroom experience last night. No, not that kind of mushroom. It wasn't a magic mushroom. It was a soccer ball-sized brain, I tell you, a western giant puffball. Leland and Charla hunted it down over the weekend in the wilds of the Alpine Loop and brought it to us as a Love Gift of Pure Intentions. I've never seen anything like it. Rob has been saying for years that he used to find and eat puffballs back east when he was a kid. So he was our veteran. And Leland and Charla did their homework, to make sure it wasn't a dangerous kind of fungus. It was 100% edible, this fungus, their reference books and expert sources agreed. Apparently, their sources didn't mention that western giant puffballs need to be 100% white inside when you eat them, not ivory, not pearl, not eggshell, not beige, not even the teensiest bit antiqued, in order to avoid stomach upset. (Thank you for the belated clarification, Wikipedia.) You can, of course, see where this is going?

Anyway, it was fun to have the fungus hunters come over yesterday, watch Rob and Leland slice up this amazing soccer brain into sticks, egg it, bread it, fry it with green onions and garlic, and then eat the finished product in good company. Leland said, "I don't taste anything. I don't like it." (But know this about our friends the fungus hunters: they never want to eat the mushrooms. They hunt for sport.) Rob said, "It tastes like it's a little past its prime." The menfolk put their noses up at our puffball. Charla was more open, and had a few pieces: "It's not my favorite, but it's alright." I said, "Sure it has a taste! It tastes like mushroom!" It wasn't bad. I generally approve of mushrooms and harbor kind of a weird affection for them, so of course I wanted to like this one. I practically proselyted for the fungus. Give it a chance, I wanted to say. Come on, people, it's Found Food, wild and wonderful. I think I mentally rolled my eyes—just a tad, and with all the love in my heart—at the pickiness of the fellows. Add to my enthusiasm the fact that I was pretty hungry. Sunday afternoon post-church is generally a busy time at my house, and not the most well-fed stretch of hours in our week. Remember that: empty stomach + slightly antiqued western giant puffball interior. A forest growth that came with no cooking or eating instructions. Fungus gusto. 

When we all went over later to join Rob's folks for dinner at Tribal Headquarters, my stomach was aching. Pretty soon Charla was saying she needed to go home and lie down. My mum-in-law asked repeatedly, "Are you poisoned? Do we need to take you to the E.R.?" No, no, just to the Home for Careless Fungus Eaters.

It took me till this morning, about the time that Heather and I went out for bagels, to feel normalish. I hope Charla's doing better; last I heard she was still with us.

I would eat another puffball, yes, I would. But the next time that soccer brain's gonna have to be pristine inside. White as angel food cake, and a perfect texture to match.

Okay, that's it. One profound post. Still want to read my blog, Heather?

I have to say that when I opened up Blogger to write this post, there were close to a dozen wonderful comments waiting for me to moderate and publish. I never received any notification about them, so they've been piled up for weeks, waiting around to jump out at me and yell, "Surprise!" But how did that happen? My blog settings don't require comment moderation, at least not at my command. Huh. I guess that proves my blog and I need to get reacquainted.

And Heather, you and I must always stay acquainted. Happy birthday!

(And thanks, friends, for the kind comments you left for me on earlier posts. Wish I'd seen them when you left them so I could've responded right away.)

The Loaf of Love is Large and Wordy

Saturday we went to a wedding celebration. Happiness! Found out that our friend married her friend the day before the party, on March Forth. What an auspicious day. I say they are destined for connubial bliss.

Beautiful Andi hosted the party. Happiness! Pompons and popping flashes. Old friends, good food. Profundities baked into Andi's artful and ever-communicative bread, like so:

It originally said, "MARSHA MARSHA MARSHA" in honor of the bride. March forth, Marsha. Marcha, marcha, marcha! May your joys be plenty and your kisses long.

And now for the advice of the evening:

Funny, but even after reading the directions on this loaf of bread, one of the party guests felt compelled to ask a stranger's permission (mine, because I was the one standing there) to cut into the words. He never actually spoke to me, just looked at me helplessly with a worried question on his brow. I told him, "Oh, just go ahead!"

I wonder if he felt guilty eating the word "ENJOY"?

Forget the meaning and enjoy. Observe how it's done properly, this letting go and taking pleasure in a wonderful moment:

She's just blindly tossed a pretty green bouquet, launched it, laughing, not looking. And see what happens next?

More delight! Leaping and laughing. Where's the bouquet? You never saw it, did you? So either I'm not a great photographer, or it just doesn't matter—your choice. (Trust me, it was green.)

Look, aren't the newlyweds wonderful? Marsha and Clint. Full of meaning that they don't have to remember every conscious moment. Full of joy because they let themselves forget for a little while and simply enjoy.

At least that's my take on things. 

Check out this cake. After Marsha and Clint nodded to tradition and fed each other a piece (nicely, not stuffingly) for the crowd, they walked away to continue enjoying themselves. And The Cake became a help-yourself affair. I was amused at how long it took people to give themselves permission to furtively walk up and hack off a hunk. Guilt, guilt. But as we saw earlier in this post, even a label might not have been enough to help them with that. 

Glad I wasn't shy because that almond frosting rocked the house. (Forget the calories and enjoy.)