tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74342853824178385772024-03-14T00:11:23.328-04:00life itself is grace..Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-52712555557823620352011-11-11T07:30:00.000-05:002011-11-11T07:42:10.871-05:00quite unexpected<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes the best things are the simple things, the hidden ones, the unexpected goodness found when you least expect it.<br />
<br />
Like Nantucket Pie, for example.<br />
<br />
Perhaps this will not surprise <i>you</i>, well-informed reader, but Nantucket Pie--it's a <i>thing</i>!<i> </i>I had no idea. But it's out there. Baking in people's ovens, residing on their food blogs, perched upon dining room tables and kitchen counters. Particularly in Nantucket, I assume.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://cooking-books.blogspot.com/2009/02/nantucket-cranberry-pie.html">I'm told</a> that the late <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laurie_Colwin">Laurie Colwin</a> has a classic version of this recipe in her book <i>More Home Cooking. </i>The recipe featured here today, however, came to me a few Saturdays ago in a slightly more haphazard way than, you know, a book. (As is appropriate, I imagine. My life feels much more haphazard than your typical glossy cookbook photograph.)<br />
<br />
I purchase my cranberries faithfully from the cranberry lady at my local farmers market, who also sells blueberries in the summertime, offers a plethora of surely-scrumptious-yet-extremely-expensive jams (due to the latter part of that description, I have purchased approximately one) and is the only certified organic berry vendor at the market.<br />
<br />
Yet I must say that Cranberry Lady is not particularly...friendly. She's not unpleasant, just distracted. Or extremely disinterested? I'm not entirely sure. On the Saturday morning in question, after she handed me my box of cranberries, I was responding with an overenthusiastic smile (in hopes of lifting her spirits) and turning to go when she reached toward me again, a brochure in her hand. No eye contact. Then one word, in complete monotone: "Here."<br />
<br />
Now as it happens, what Cranberry Lady lacks in enthusiasm, her pamphlet provides in abundance. It is all <i>about </i>the humble cranberry! The pamphlet comes by way of the Michigan Cranberry Marketing Committee--which I didn't even know we <i>had</i>! I'm learning so many new things. "Say yes to Michigan cranberries!" the pamphlet instructs me with evident enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
And indeed, I do. Yes, Michigan cranberries, <i>yes.</i><br />
<br />
And so it came to pass that a few days later, whilst making dinner with Ben and craving dessert (as is typical) to accompany it, I remembered the notably brief recipe I'd spotted in the brochure. <i>Nantucket Pie</i>, or <i>Henrietta's Easy Cranberry Pie</i>, it was called, though as I scanned the ingredients and extremely concise instructions, it seemed unlikely to me that this eight-line recipe was going to produce anything much like a pie. It was mysterious. I wanted dessert. We gave it a go.<br />
<br />
Before we knew it, my apartment was filled with the scent of comfort and warmth and the holidays. Dessert was completed before dinner, but we showed tremendous restraint and ate our vegetables first.<br />
<br />
And <i>oh, </i>but what a worthwhile wait! The pie was scrumptious. As I will <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2010/11/nantucket-cranberry-pie/">not be</a> <a href="http://www.thekitchn.com/thekitchn/recipe-review/is-this-the-easiest-cake-ever-077474">the first</a> to note, this recipe produces a "pie" that is not very pie-like. It's more reminiscent of a cake, a simple one, the kind I most enjoy. Most of the cranberries linger near the bottom, and the moist cake rises between them, culminating with a crisp top. The flavor is simple and delicious.<br />
<br />
I made it again last night, and after I had slowly eaten my slice, pausing between each bite, I was very, very sad that it was over.<br />
<br />
Part of the goodness of the Nantucket Pie is that its deliciousness and my sense of culinary success were so utterly unexpected. Hardly any ingredients, obscenely simple instructions, an incredibly quick preparation, the mysterious label of "pie" for something quite decidedly not pie--I had very low expectations.<br />
<br />
If you think something is going to be good and it is good, that's wonderful. But if you have no idea what is coming and it turns out to be this good...well. That is another thing entirely.<br />
<br />
And I probably don't even need to tell you outright, but all of this is much like my life.<br />
<br />
Yours, too, I imagine.<br />
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<b>Nantucket Cranberry Pie</b><br />
<i>Adapted from the Michigan Cranberry Marketing Committee brochure</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
2 1/2 cups cranberries, fresh or frozen (if frozen, no need to defrost)<br />
1/2 cup walnuts or pecans, chopped, optional<br />
1/3 - 1/2 cup sugar<br />
3/4 cup (3 ounces) butter, melted<br />
3/4 - 1 cup sugar (if you like, swap out 1/4 cup for brown sugar)<br />
1 cup all-purpose flour (or, 1/2 cup white + 1/2 cup whole wheat)<br />
2 eggs, beaten<br />
1 tsp vanilla<br />
<br />
Preheat over to 375 F.<br />
<br />
Butter a 9-or-so-inch pie pan. Pour in the cranberries and then the walnuts, if using. Sprinkle the first 1/3 - 1/2 cup sugar on top.<br />
<br />
Combine the remaining ingredients and beat until incorporated. Pour the mixture over the cranberry layer.<br />
<br />
Bake for 30-40 minutes, until the top of the pie/cake is a lovely shade of light brown.<br />
<br />
Yield: 6 slicesStacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-16215936480866833452011-10-02T20:39:00.000-04:002011-10-02T23:38:34.768-04:00my arms are open.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is official: fall has arrived.<br />
<br />
This is evidenced now not only by the calendar. The trees are changing colors, I pulled my boots out from the back of my closet, my landlords have turned the heat on, I bought brussels sprouts and sweet potatoes at the market, I ate two cinnamon-coated donuts and drank hot cider at a nearby cider mill this afternoon and I am fighting a nasty cold (which would totally justify the two donuts, if I felt justification were necessary, which I do not). Also, I have baked three harvest cakes. More on that later.<br />
<br />
Those who spend any amount of time with me know that I love fall, but I love it with hesitancy these days. I find this season enchanting and beautiful, but it comes before winter, which, though also enchanting and beautiful, is cold. I used to love winter, too, but now the best I can say is that winter and I get along alright. You see, while I adore snow and festivity and Christmastime, I also get very, very cold. Additionally, I do not appreciate the darkness that descends for the sum total of the hours I'm out of the office. And there is no one to drive me over the slick and icy roads, cover the rising cost of heating a home or shovel my car out from snowdrifts, like there was in my childhood (thanks for that, Mom and Dad). The fresh produce disappears, and I am relegated to the track at the Y, banished (or at least greatly discouraged) by the snow and cold from regular runs on my city's streets.<br />
<br />
I know that all of this worry is premature. But sometimes, I cannot help but be irrational. As soon as I sensed summer fading, I began behaving as though mid-February was coming, you know, tomorrow. <i>It's almost winter, </i>I whimpered as children bought fresh notebooks and apples crept into the market stalls.<br />
<br />
However! I come to you today with <i>good </i>news: I have embraced fall, even knowing that the darkness and cold of winter will follow.<br />
<br />
The shifting of the seasons is a beautiful, magical thing, as is the passing of time, and as is the movement of our lives from one situation into the next...and we cannot have that beauty without all of the intricacies, both good and bad, of each moment along the way. I know this; I have known this for a very long time. I just tend to forget.<br />
<br />
And after all, this is what we must do, is it not? When we've finished griping and complaining and worrying, either we embrace our circumstances and the corners of the world we inhabit, challenges and quirks included...or we don't, and life happens anyway.<br />
<br />
So I have stopped myself mid-worry, and I am opening my arms, choosing to embrace this season of the calendar year--and, yes, this season of my life. I have resolved to invest in a few more layers of clothing and to drink as many warm beverages as it takes. I am choosing to be happy.<br />
<br />
Now, let's get to that cake, shall we? I was prompted by my dear friend Sarah, who is currently far away from me on the isles of Hawaii, to bake a cake she spotted on the internet (wish I could have shared this with you, my dear!). It is a cake for harvest time, filled with zucchini and carrot and apple, along with an array of other wholesome and delicious ingredients. As noted, I have made it three times now, with numerous tweaks and variations along the way to bring me to the following version. It's a friendly cake, open to such things, so experiment yourself if you so desire.<br />
<br />
This cake is filling and hearty, just right for the glorious early autumn now upon us, when the cold begins to brush against your skin though the sun still shines brightly, when you need a scarf around your neck but can still wear a sweater in lieu of a coat. It is a knobby cake, with a very nice crumb and a rustic sweetness. A slice of this pairs perfectly with a mug of hot cider or coffee, and it is healthful (and delicious) enough for breakfast or the most delightful of mid-morning snacks. It is also wonderful with frosting, for dessert.<br />
<br />
And so. My arms are open, and I am embracing this season.<br />
<br />
But as with any difficult task, cake certainly doesn't hurt.<br />
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<b>Harvest Cake</b><br />
<i>Adapted from <a href="http://www.roostblog.com/roost/harvest-cake-with-vanilla-cream.html">Roost</a></i><br />
<br />
3 cups white whole wheat flour (or 1 1/2 cup white and 1 1/2 cup wheat flour)<br />
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda<br />
1/2 teaspoon salt<br />
2 teaspoons cinnamon<br />
pinch nutmeg<br />
1/4 cup coconut or olive oil<br />
1/4 cup honey (+1 tablespoon if you like, for a slightly sweeter, moister cake)<br />
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract<br />
3 eggs, lightly beaten<br />
1 cup carrot, grated<br />
1 cup zucchini, grated<br />
1 cup apple, grated<br />
1/2 cup walnuts, chopped, optional (but very much recommended if you like nuts)<br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 350 F.<br />
<br />
Grease a 9 or 10-inch cake or springform pan. Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Combine the wet ingredients in a separate, smaller bowl. Add the wet mixture to the dry, and stir gently to incorporate. Pour into the prepared pan.<br />
<br />
Bake for 40-45 minutes, or until a tester inserted into the center emerges clean. Frost if you wish (one of my favorite frosting recipes follows) and enjoy!<br />
<br />
Yield: 8-10 slices<br />
<br />
<b>Not-Too-Sweet Buttercream Frosting</b><br />
<i>From </i><a href="http://markbittman.com/" style="font-style: italic;">Mark Bittman</a><i>'s </i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/How-Cook-Everything-Vegetarian-Meatless/dp/0764524836/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_3">How to Cook Everything Vegetarian</a><br />
<br />
12 tablespoons (6 oz.) butter, softened<br />
2 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar<br />
pinch salt<br />
1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons milk or cream, slightly more if needed<br />
2 teaspoons vanilla extract<br />
<br />
Using a fork or electric mixer, cream the butter. Add the sugar and salt, alternating with the milk and beating well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. If the buttercream is too thin, refrigerate it until it hardens enough to spread easily.Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-64007793190627067492011-09-10T19:55:00.000-04:002011-09-11T01:37:37.232-04:00everything is alright.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This tart is for you. Because everyone needs love in the form of ripe, late-summer peaches topped with bubbling sugar and surrounded by a crisp, crumbly pie dough from time to time, right?<br />
<br />
I do, at least. Tangible good things such as this remind me that everything really is alright, and sometimes, I desperately need that reminder.<br />
<br />
I didn't have clear expectations for my twenty-something-lady life, or even clear desires, and perhaps that's why all of this (i.e. my life at present) feels like such a surprise. <i>Furthermore</i>, sometimes great-big-real-world-adult life is really not all that exciting. And you see, I like excitement. Routine and plans and patterns, yes, but also excitement. I always need something to look forward to, and I have a bad habit of desiring greatness and excitement, in everything and all the time.<br />
<br />
And so, contentment has been fleeting lately. There have been conversations and emails and musings over cups of coffee that have informed my thoughts on all of this, but the wisdom and clarity and profundity of them escape me now. Yet those moments, and the moments when the aroma of a baking cake fills my apartment, or I sit down for dinner with that fellow I love, or I catch a glimpse of the sky erupting in a million colors as the sun slips down, or I see my parents arriving at my front door for a visit, or someone once again gives me grace I don't deserve...<i>those</i> moments remind me that it's okay.<br />
<br />
Because this is life, whether or not we expected it. <i>This</i>. All of it, imperfect though it may be. Sheets draped all over my apartment when the dryer doesn't quite finish the job and chipped toenail polish and long to do lists and dirty dishes.<br />
<br />
Life is full of imperfection and confusion. But beauty, too. Quiet moments in a cool room while the last wave of summer heat and humidity barrels through the streets of my city. An exuberant new intern at work. Almost-but-not-quite missing the fireworks last night. A really, really wonderful <a href="http://www.liefdesign.com/">new friend</a>. Harvest cake. The enormous zucchini I bought at the market today, discounted by a friend I've not seen since springtime. Good books. Dreams for the future.<br />
<br />
But I am still coming to terms with the fact that this is the nature of life. That this is alright. I still want to apologize when the floors aren't clean or my hair is a mess...but at the same time, I don't. And I refuse to. The very act of it would be to embrace the idea that life should be otherwise, that I can't quite live up to how I ought to be. I'd much rather work on believing that I'm doing just fine.<br />
<br />
And so I continue to settle into the understanding that sometimes the slightly burnt edges are the very best part. The soft plums in the dimpled and sugared folds of that lopsided cake I baked for my dear friend's visit taste just the same as they would if the darned thing were symmetrical. And you can, in fact, serve the first half of a delightful peach tart to your friends on a Friday night and the second half of that same tart to your visiting parents and your boyfriend the next evening.<br />
<br />
This tart, to be specific. And not only is it lovely and delicious and <a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2011/08/summertime-thus-far.html">summery</a>, but also, it is simple.<br />
<br />
So bake this tart, or don't. And make it perfectly, or totally screw up. It's okay. You're alright. And so am I.<br />
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<b>Amanda Hesser's Peach Tart</b><br />
<i>Adapted from Amanda Hesser's excellent recipe, found both at <a href="http://www.food52.com/recipes/14217_peach_tart">food52</a> and in her book </i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cooking-Mr-Latte-Courtship-Recipes/dp/0393325598/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_3">Cooking for Mr. Latte</a><br />
<br />
1 1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose or white whole wheat flour, or a combination, divided<br />
3/4 teaspoons salt, divided<br />
3/4 cup plus 1 teaspoon sugar (or slightly less), divided<br />
1/4 cup mild olive oil<br />
1/4 cup vegetable or canola oil (or use olive oil for the full 1/2 cup)<br />
2 tablespoons milk, 2% or whole<br />
1/2 teaspoon almond extract<br />
2 tablespoons cold, unsalted butter<br />
3 to 5 small ripe peaches, pitted and sliced into crescents of about 1/2 inch width<br />
<br />
Preheat the oven to 425 F. Stir together 1 1/2 cups flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1 teaspoon sugar. In another, smaller bowl, whisk the oils, milk and almond extract together. Pour the wet mixture into the dry and mix gently with a fork, being careful not to overwork the dough.<br />
<br />
Transfer the dough to a tart pan (anything between 9 and 11 inches or so). Pat and prod the dough until it covers the bottom of the pan, and then push it up the sides to meet the pan's edges. It should be approximately 1/8 inch thick all around. Trim and discard excess dough if necessary.<br />
<br />
Combine 3/4 cup sugar (or less if you feel so moved), 2 tablespoons flour, 1/4 teaspoon salt and the butter. For exceptionally juicy peaches, add an additional tablespoon of flour. Pinch the butter into the dry ingredients until you have a nice crumbly mixture, with both fine and pebble-sized pieces.<br />
<br />
Starting on the outer edges of the tart, arrange the peaches, slightly overlapping them, in concentric circles. Fill the center as well, in whatever pattern you choose. (In fact, you may arrange your peaches just as haphazardly, or not, as you desire, fitting with the theme of the reflections above.) The peaches should be tucked in snugly. Sprinkle the crumbly mixture on top. (Amanda Hesser told me it would seem like a lot, and lo! she was correct. It will indeed seem like a lot.)<br />
<br />
Bake for 35 to 45 minutes. Remove the tart from the oven when shiny, thick bubbles are beginning to cover the fruit and the crust is slightly brown. Place on a rack to cool.<br />
<br />
Serve the tart warm or at room temperature, perhaps with large dollop of whipped cream. It will still taste delicious the following day--good enough even for company.<br />
<br />
Yield: 8 slicesStacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-29445415263915961142011-08-25T00:55:00.000-04:002011-08-25T13:13:41.306-04:00summertime, thus far.Well <i>hello</i>! I hope you're having a lovely summertime, dear reader. I am making this long-overdue stop to tell the story of my summer to date.<br />
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If, by chance, you are questioning my use of "thus far" and "to date," if you are by necessity purchasing fresh notebooks for a fall semester or writing lesson plans or already sitting in a classroom, or if--God forbid!--you are one of those <i>hurrying the season away</i>, let me just tell you right now that I firmly believe that things last as long as we choose, and my summer <i>is not over. </i>I know, I know, easy for me to say in my post-collegiate, (currently) non-academic world. But as long as I still want iced coffee and am not wearing scarves and tights, it is summer. I anticipate that summer will last well into September, maybe October.<br />
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Is that okay with everyone? Good. Onward.<br />
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This summer has consisted of many a lovely thing, as it tends to be with summer. There have been picnics by rivers</div>
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and on beaches.</div>
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Overheated in my windowless little orange kitchen, I have prepared an abundance of baked goods filled with market-fresh fruit, from <a href="http://www.food52.com/recipes/4318_naughty_rhubarb_scones">rhubarb</a></div>
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to <a href="http://www.joythebaker.com/blog/2011/06/strawberry-upside-down-cake-with-cardamom/">strawberries</a></div>
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to <a href="http://theyearinfood.com/2011/05/blueberry-cornbread.html">blueberries</a>.</div>
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I also made a <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2010/08/everyday-chocolate-cake/">chocolate cake</a>, to ensure that chocolate didn't get completely slighted in my kitchen this summer.</div>
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I developed a slight obsession with ricotta, atop toasts and further adorned with...anything,<br />
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or inside of <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2011/08/sugar-plum-crepes-with-ricotta-and-honey/">crepes</a>, similarly adorned,</div>
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and I added this <a href="http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2010/05/french-tomato-tart-recipe/">incredible savory tart</a> to my repertoire. <i>Thank you,</i> David Lebovitz!</div>
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I fell, hard, for white wines</div>
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and deepened my affection for the iced americano.</div>
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And I traveled! First, to Minnesota in late May (uh, also summertime on my calendar). There, I visited my lovely sister and brother-in-law and also spoke on behalf <a href="http://cbi.fm/">my organization</a>. I was rather excited about seeing the church Anthony pastors.</div>
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Sara and I baked up <a href="http://www.joythebaker.com/blog/2011/04/brown-butter-toasted-coconut-chocolate-chip-cookies/">a storm</a></div>
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and ate copious amounts of rhubarb. (Anthony abstained.)</div>
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The three of us enjoyed good food, walked all over the little town and nearby woodlands, talked for hours and laughed. It was wonderful.</div>
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In early July, Ben and I hopped on a train with a bunch of amazing young people from Ben's church<br />
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and spent a number of <i>very hot </i>days in Austin, Texas, where we talked to homeless folks and threw carnivals for kids and boxed food and painted houses and learned and laughed and worshiped and didn't sleep enough.</div>
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I love these youth-folk.<br />
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And though for the most part, the culinary dimension of the experience left something to be desired, there were a few high points.</div>
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Ben and I also took a trip to Chicago, where we spent time with two sets of good friends</div>
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and adventured<br />
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and frequented <a href="http://www.floriole.com/">a bakery</a> I adore. (We enjoyed our glorious pastries at a nearby park.)</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A5g8Z5Za6Ik/TlXB0mUPDKI/AAAAAAAAAXY/MRnlNiOoY5g/s1600/DSC_8326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A5g8Z5Za6Ik/TlXB0mUPDKI/AAAAAAAAAXY/MRnlNiOoY5g/s640/DSC_8326.JPG" width="640" /></a>My whole (immediate) family recently congregated for one very happy day.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mFnE9NzPB0M/TlXJvDVxNJI/AAAAAAAAAYw/lB6Bkuz2qvI/s1600/DSC_8438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mFnE9NzPB0M/TlXJvDVxNJI/AAAAAAAAAYw/lB6Bkuz2qvI/s640/DSC_8438.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And I camped with friends. It was not nearly as cold as my first real camping experience last September, and although it rained, it was fabulous.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-51nXGJJuknc/TlW6xJK888I/AAAAAAAAAWE/T2bNMHWNxT8/s1600/DSC_8517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-51nXGJJuknc/TlW6xJK888I/AAAAAAAAAWE/T2bNMHWNxT8/s640/DSC_8517.JPG" width="640" /></a>I wore red patent leather shoes to the wedding of two people I love very much,</div>
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where I also saw a dear friend after too long apart.</div>
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I have passed many Saturday morning hours at the market and have prepared and thoroughly enjoyed <a href="http://groundswellcooking.wordpress.com/2011/06/28/week-4-you-know-youre-a-csa-member-when/">many</a> <a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/shaved-fennel-salad-recipe.html">wonderful</a> <a href="http://www.food52.com/recipes/13784_corn_salad_with_cilantro_caramelized_onions">meals</a></div>
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and, on the less-fancy-but-no-less-delightful end, a lot of toast with yogurt and jam.</div>
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Ben's sweet nieces and nephews increased my joy, and we welcomed another little one into his family's fold and into the world.<br />
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I wore sundresses and sandals and installed a window box air conditioner and read food memoirs.<br />
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And<i> this fellow</i> kept making my world ever-so-bright.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QQqHfl2ONg0/TlXJkVYPSxI/AAAAAAAAAYU/rAttX2D_ai4/s1600/P1015674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QQqHfl2ONg0/TlXJkVYPSxI/AAAAAAAAAYU/rAttX2D_ai4/s640/P1015674.JPG" width="640" /></a>In sum, it's been a good set of days. Hopefully, I'll return soon with a recipe, and before long, some exciting (blog-related) news!<br />
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Until then, keep enjoying summer, my friends. And remember--it is not over yet!</div>
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Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-47707377926545662242011-06-18T16:44:00.000-04:002011-06-18T16:44:55.476-04:00let the immeasurable come.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith</b><br />
by Mary Oliver (from <i>West Wind: Poems and Prose Poems, </i>1997)<br />
<br />
Every summer<br />
I listen and look<br />
under the sun's brass and even<br />
into the moonlight, but I can't hear<br />
<br />
anything, I can't see anything--<br />
not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,<br />
nor the leaves<br />
deepening their damp pleats,<br />
<br />
nor the tassels making,<br />
nor the shucks, nor the cobs.<br />
And still,<br />
every day,<br />
<br />
the leafy fields<br />
grow taller and thicker--<br />
green gowns lofting up in the night,<br />
showered with silk.<br />
<br />
And so, every summer,<br />
I fail as a witness, seeing nothing--<br />
I am deaf too<br />
to the tick of the leaves,<br />
<br />
the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet--<br />
all of it<br />
happening<br />
beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.<br />
<br />
And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.<br />
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.<br />
Let the wind turn in the trees,<br />
and the mystery hidden in the dirt<br />
<br />
swing through the air.<br />
How could I look at anything in this world<br />
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?<br />
What should I fear?<br />
<br />
One morning<br />
in the leafy green ocean<br />
the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body<br />
is sure to be there.Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-2971872054780492192011-06-13T23:09:00.004-04:002011-06-13T23:18:34.383-04:00to win hearts.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In an effort to win the hearts of members of my sweetheart's extended family this weekend, I baked a cake for their picnic reunion. I still tried to be charming while with them, of course, but it was <i>nice, </i>people, to have a beautiful and delicious cake as backup.<br />
<br />
I was taking a few chances, true, with my choice of baked good. Among them: what if I couldn't find sufficient rhubarb at the market on Saturday morning? what if the cake didn't cooperate when flipped? what if I dropped it in the grass as we walked to the picnic location? what if it turned out to be not as interesting a creation as I had anticipated? what if it was not, in fact, delicious?<br />
<br />
But, dear readers, I had nothing to fear. And as my heart-winning endeavor seemed rather effective, or at least not ineffective, I thought I ought to share it with you, just in case someone out there needs to win over a heart or two.<br />
<br />
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And furthermore, after all of that <a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2011/06/ode-to-rhubarb.html">gushing about rhubarb</a>, I felt obliged to offer at least one recipe based on this market treasure before its season slips away--because it is, most unfortunately, slipping. The days of the farmers market, while entirely glorious, also provoke fear that I will miss some wonder of a fruit or vegetable in the prime of its season, or that I will fail to enjoy said wonder sufficiently, or that I will suffer the fate of discovering the perfect recipe for strawberries or fava beans or sorrel--or rhubarb!--just after that ingredient has vanished from the market.<br />
<br />
It has been known to happen.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But! I had been doing very well this year in preventing such unthinkable tragedies, having pounced upon the rhubarb immediately upon its arrival to the market and then regularly buying more than I could easily/sanely work through in a week. And yet I almost missed my opportunity to bake this cake, and that, of course, would have elicited no affections from anyone.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Thankfully, at one farmer's stall, when I had nearly given up hope, a few lingering red stalks hiding alongside a pile of asparagus caught my eye--enough for this cake, plus a small stash for the freezer. A narrow escape!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
And why, you may ask, does this cake deserve the label of <i>heart-winning</i>? It looks like a fruitcake, I hear you whisper apprehensively.<br />
<br />
Well. Perhaps it's the warm sugar pocketed between sweet slices of rhubarb and bright threads of ginger, or the way the sugar caramelizes to the deepest brown hue and crisps perfectly along the edges. Or perhaps it's the moist cake hiding below that lovely layer of fruit, dense with oats and more brown sugar. Possibly the compelling power rests in the delight inspired by a flipped-up cake, or in knowledge of the avoided-danger such flipping requires.<br />
<br />
Or maybe it's the desire to win those hearts in the first place, and not so much the cake itself, that wields magic. Perhaps--just perhaps--the cake has nothing to do with it.<br />
<br />
Whatever the case may be, I urge you to make this cake. It will give you confidence, and at the end of the day, that's probably the point.<br />
<br />
So go on now--win some hearts.<br />
<br />
<i>Note: If rhubarb has left your local market and you have none lingering in your freezer, I imagine you could swap in another fruit; just be sure to dial down the sugar a bit, as rhubarb is quite tart.</i><br />
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<b>Rhubarb Ginger Downside-Up/Upside-Down Cake</b><br />
<i>Adapted (hardly) from Tim Hirschfeld's recipe, found both at <a href="http://www.food52.com/recipes/4267_rhubarb_ginger_downsideup_oatmeal_cake">food52</a> and on his blog, <a href="http://www.bonafidefarmfood.com/http___www.bonafidefarmfood.com/baked_goods/Entries/2011/5/6_Rhubarb_Downside_Upper.html">Bona Fide Farm Food</a></i><br />
<br />
<b><i>For the rhubarb layer:</i></b><br />
2 1/4 cups rhubarb, 1/2 inch slices<br />
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated<br />
1 cup brown sugar<br />
1/4 cup unsalted butter<br />
<br />
<b><i>For the oatmeal cake:</i></b><br />
1/2 cup old fashioned oats<br />
3/4 cup boiling water<br />
1/4 cup unsalted butter, cut into 1/4 inch cubes<br />
1/2 teaspoon vanilla<br />
1 egg<br />
1/2 cup brown sugar<br />
1/2 cup white sugar<br />
1 cup flour (I used half white whole wheat + half all-purpose)<br />
1 teaspoon baking powder<br />
1/4 teaspoon baking soda<br />
1/4 teaspoon salt<br />
<br />
Combine the oats, boiling water and first 1/4 cup of butter in a mixing bowl, or in the pan in which you heated the water on the stovetop if you chose that method. Set aside to cool.<br />
<br />
Preheat the over to 350 F. Place the rest of the butter in a 10-inch cast iron skillet, and set the skillet in the oven to melt the butter. Remove the pan when the butter is just melted, and spread the brown sugar on top. In a separate bowl, combine the rhubarb and ginger. Spread this mixture evenly over the butter and brown sugar. Set aside.<br />
<br />
In the empty rhubarb bowl, combine the flour(s), baking powder, baking soda and salt.<br />
<br />
To the cooled oatmeal mixture, add the egg, both sugars and the vanilla. Stir to combine. Add the dry ingredients to the wet; mix until combined.<br />
<br />
Spread the cake batter uniformly over the rhubarb. Bake for 30-40 minutes, until the top of the cake is golden brown and a knife inserted in the center comes out clean (relatively so--recall that gooey, caramelized layer nestled below!).<br />
<br />
Let the cake cool in the skillet for at least five minutes. Run a knife around its edges, and gently invert it onto a cake plate or a sheet pan.<br />
<br />
Allow the cake to cool for at least twenty minutes before slicing and enjoying thoroughly--at home, on a picnic or wherever you might be. Hearts will be won.<br />
<br />
Yield: 8-10 slicesStacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-48131238476764688712011-06-02T23:48:00.007-04:002011-06-03T00:00:59.911-04:00ode to rhubarb<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5qmTnXgOIiA/TegCoqlPO6I/AAAAAAAAAUo/nPhkz3o1Sj8/s1600/100_3305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5qmTnXgOIiA/TegCoqlPO6I/AAAAAAAAAUo/nPhkz3o1Sj8/s640/100_3305.JPG" width="640" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RB0bnUjovf4/TegCthq60hI/AAAAAAAAAUs/3lzn-fQm3OQ/s1600/DSC_7947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RB0bnUjovf4/TegCthq60hI/AAAAAAAAAUs/3lzn-fQm3OQ/s640/DSC_7947.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I know that I am <a href="http://www.lottieanddoof.com/2011/05/rhubarb-mania-2/">not the</a> <a href="http://eatmakeread.com/2011/04/22/happy-hour-rhubarb-blush-making-it-happen/">only one</a> singing the praises of rhubarb, but please, humor me. Rhubarb, along with asparagus, is one of the first types of local produce to arrive at the farmers market here in my home state of Michigan. I watch for it, waiting in anticipation as the days get warmer, and then it finally appears, heralding summertime, whispering of all that is to come.<br />
<br />
So naturally, I wrote you a poem about how much I love rhubarb. That's a perfectly normal thing to do, right?<br />
<br />
<i>Roasted rhubarb, above, adapted from such recipes as those of <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/2010/03/lot-of-rhubarb.html">Molly Wizenberg at Orangette</a> and <a href="http://wednesdaychef.typepad.com/the_wednesday_chef/2007/06/rose_grays_and_.html">Luisa Weiss, the Wednesday Chef</a>. </i><i>Rhubarb tarts with a corn flour crust, below, from Kim Boyce's brillant </i>Good to the Grain. <i>This recipe can also be found online <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2010/05/rustic-rhubarb-tarts/">at the Smitten Kitchen</a>.</i><br />
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<b>Ode to Rhubarb</b><br />
<br />
Your long stalks</div>
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Deepest red</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pink fading to green ends</div>
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They beckon me from where they rest<br />
On the tables at the farmers market</div>
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<br /></div>
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And in an instant<br />
I am dreaming of crisps and cobblers</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of warm, bright pockets of fruit</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Encased within the crumb of a perfect scone</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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Or under the layer of brown sugar and butter</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Topping my mother's quick bread,</div>
Breakfast on the last days of school before summer<br />
I am dreaming of ruby-red juices<br />
Threatening to escape the confines<br />
Of a small, misshapen tart</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which I will call rustic</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In explanation of its imperfections</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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I am dreaming of filling my bright red pot</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With chopped stalks<br />
Of a matching hue,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stirred with sugar and vanilla</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And a splash of wine<br />
(Red or white, I've yet to decide)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They will fall apart</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And become, like magic,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something I never know quite what to call</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But will gladly put atop my oatmeal</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And over ice cream and yogurt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And beneath soft pillows of whipped cream</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I am pulled back to reality</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I hear the old man say,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why not two pounds?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why just one?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(I think to myself that<br />
He is so thin<br />
Like a stalk of rhubarb)<br />
And standing there in front of his stall<br />
Your beauty before me<br />
I am easily convinced<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I leave the market,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My bag is heavy</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I open my heart</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To summer</div>
Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-82382980705476698552011-05-19T23:19:00.002-04:002011-05-20T00:36:48.033-04:00run far. view tulips.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This past weekend was really lovely. On Saturday, I ran twenty-five kilometers with thousands of people through the streets of Grand Rapids and along its <a href="http://www.53riverbankrun.com/">riverbank</a>. That fellow of mine ran a slightly shorter distance, but I'm very proud of him nonetheless, because he's awfully fast, and, well, I love him (see below).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The race left me with the sorest legs post-race that I've yet experienced, a very black-and-blue toe (nothing new there) and, for several days, a pitifully slow stair-climbing pace. But <a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2010/05/race-day-my-mother-good-weekend.html">once</a> <a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2010/10/on-chocolatepear-cake-running-and.html">again</a>, it was worth it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5YUcdsVA1bw/TdCJVbUIXLI/AAAAAAAAAUI/d4vhuXDyZ0w/s1600/IMG_4406.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5YUcdsVA1bw/TdCJVbUIXLI/AAAAAAAAAUI/d4vhuXDyZ0w/s640/IMG_4406.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>Saturday afternoon, because I thought we ought to pack more activity into a day that began with many-mile-long races, we went to Holland, where we saw tulips in abundance.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yZGubZ_mcgk/TdMZyAaSAyI/AAAAAAAAAUU/_XE9_q6doiE/s1600/DSC_7908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yZGubZ_mcgk/TdMZyAaSAyI/AAAAAAAAAUU/_XE9_q6doiE/s640/DSC_7908.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7xKS7UkKiyA/TdMZqM3B9kI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/_IG-FqEkstY/s1600/DSC_7906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7xKS7UkKiyA/TdMZqM3B9kI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/_IG-FqEkstY/s640/DSC_7906.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Qh4BRAMv0o/TdMZ5oCWJPI/AAAAAAAAAUY/FnpouuvE1ZU/s1600/DSC_7917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Qh4BRAMv0o/TdMZ5oCWJPI/AAAAAAAAAUY/FnpouuvE1ZU/s640/DSC_7917.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ld-rKtQa_7k/TdMZ_FcNmMI/AAAAAAAAAUc/TuCE9yVodaU/s1600/DSC_7918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ld-rKtQa_7k/TdMZ_FcNmMI/AAAAAAAAAUc/TuCE9yVodaU/s640/DSC_7918.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>They were beautiful.<br />
<br />
Life is grand.<br />
<br />
And this coming weekend, for the first time since late February, I will <i>not </i>be going on a ten-to-fifteen mile run! Oh, the simple pleasures.<br />
<br />
May these spring days, my friends, be full of simple pleasures and the things that bring you joy, whatever those things may be--long runs (or short runs) and tulips and people you love, perhaps, or evening walks on warm spring nights and family and good food and laughter.<br />
<br />
I hope that today, from your vantage point, life seems quite grand indeed.Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-80005497182459095872011-05-03T23:32:00.004-04:002011-05-04T09:36:17.342-04:00easter part two: sunday comes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yrlChi6DC3o/Tb4ggvXtHyI/AAAAAAAAAT4/TrZoUjbTHYI/s1600/DSC_7870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yrlChi6DC3o/Tb4ggvXtHyI/AAAAAAAAAT4/TrZoUjbTHYI/s640/DSC_7870.JPG" width="640" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VTC9cLjqaIA/Tb4gqOzKA2I/AAAAAAAAAUA/PpLM8DWlnZ8/s1600/DSC_7881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VTC9cLjqaIA/Tb4gqOzKA2I/AAAAAAAAAUA/PpLM8DWlnZ8/s640/DSC_7881.JPG" width="640" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a></div>During a very long run on Good Friday under drizzling, gray skies, I listened to a sermon preached the Sunday before, the last in the Lenten series of a nearby church. The pastor, in his prayer before the sermon, noted the dark days before Easter and the celebration of that bright day that follows. He prayed, "As we enter into a Friday that leads to a Sunday, we ask you to give us that hope that whatever that Friday looks like, Sunday's coming."<br />
<div><br />
</div><div><a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2010/04/photography-and-some-thoughts-on.html">For not the first time</a>, a sermon by this particular fellow had me nearly had me in tears as I rounded Reed's Lake in my well-worn running shoes. As I ran under actual dark skies, my thoughts muddled and my heart weary, the parallels couldn't have been much clearer.</div><div><br />
</div><div>And as much as it never feels true during the dark days, he<i> is</i> right: Sunday comes; it always does.<br />
<br />
But those dark days can be so hard. I struggle to get through them with hope still intact that Sunday is on its way.<br />
<br />
In these two years since graduating from college, as I've begun my life out in the great big world, if I have learned anything, it is that life is hard. There are dark days, and lonely days and sad days and confusing days and days that are just plain <i>hard</i>. Life entails difficult decisions and reasons to cry and hurting people and a broken world.<br />
<br />
But. In addition to being hard, life is also good. It is full of hope and promise.<br />
<br />
Sunday always comes.</div><div><br />
</div><div>And so it did that weekend. Following the Good Friday of that wet and dreary run, Easter Sunday came with warmth and sunshine, the physical reminder of Resurrection. Ben and I enjoyed a lovely day with his family, and his sister's twin daughters--two very small people full of simple joy, with yet-unknown-but-surely-beautiful futures ahead of them--further reminded me that there is much for us to hope for.<br />
<br />
In my life at present, I'm still rather stuck in the middle of a Friday, waiting for a Sunday. The rain comes and goes, and sometimes blue skies peak through the clouds. Yet a haze covers most of my future, and sometimes I lack even the smallest degree of clarity. But that's okay. I am still happy, and I am hopeful. The sunshine and the answers and the next pages in my story will come.<br />
<br />
And for you also, whatever you may be experiencing, I know that those things will come.<br />
<br />
There is hope. Sunday is coming. Christ is risen.<br />
<br />
So whether you are celebrating a bright Sunday morning or waiting in the dark, I offer you this salad, which is full of brightness and tastes of springtime. This was my contribution to our celebratory meal on Easter Sunday, and, if I may say so, it's quite wonderful. The recipe below provides loose guidelines and makes an enormous amount of salad, so use what you have or can get your hands on, make as much or as little as you'd like, improvise as you see fit and enjoy with people you love.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--15j_2WuF-A/TcCAhRHAetI/AAAAAAAAAUE/54eo4E7RFhs/s1600/DSC_7873.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--15j_2WuF-A/TcCAhRHAetI/AAAAAAAAAUE/54eo4E7RFhs/s640/DSC_7873.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><b>Spring Sunday Salad</b><br />
<i>Adapted <a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/heathers-farro-recipe.html">from Heidi Swanson at 101 Cookbooks</a></i><br />
<br />
<i><b>For the salad:</b></i><br />
3-6 cups cooked wheat berries (or substitute farro, which to my dismay I never can find, or pearled barley or even rice)<br />
2 cups cooked yellow split peas<br />
1 1/2 cups green peas, fresh if it happens to be the right season, frozen if not<br />
4 large handfuls of mixed salad greens<br />
1-2 cups baby tomatoes<br />
1/4 cup feta cheese, crumbled<br />
<br />
<i><b>For the Citrus Parmesan Vinaigrette:</b></i><br />
1 orange<br />
1 shallot, chopped<br />
1/3 cup Parmesan cheese<br />
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar or lemon juice<br />
1/2 cup olive oil<br />
salt and pepper<br />
<br />
To cook the wheat berries, in a large saucepan, combine 2-4 cups of wheat berries with water to cover by at least an inch and a large pinch of salt. Bring to a boil and then lower heat; cover and simmer until the wheat berries are plump and chewy, about an hour. Drain and set aside.<br />
<br />
To cook the yellow split peas, place 3 cups of water in a large saucepan and bring to a boil. Add 3/4 cup of dried yellow split peas and simmer until the peas are tender, 20-30 minutes. Drain, salt and set aside.<br />
<br />
To prepare the green peas, boil briefly in salted water. Drain and set aside.<br />
<br />
To prepare the tomatoes, douse generously with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and roast in the oven at 350 F until wrinkled and beginning to caramelize.<br />
<br />
To make the dressing, whisk the zest and juice of the orange with the chopped shallot, Parmesan cheese, vinegar or lemon juice and olive oil. Add salt and pepper to taste.<br />
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Finally, assemble the salad! In a large bowl, toss the wheat berries, yellow split peas and green peas with a few spoonfuls of the Citrus Parmesan Vinaigrette until everything is thinly and evenly coated. Add the greens and tomatoes; toss gently. Add salt and more dressing if necessary, toss one last time, place in a pretty bowl or on a pretty platter and top with the feta cheese.<br />
<br />
Then, enjoy, my friends--Sunday's coming!<br />
<br />
Serves eight or more.</div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-76571244458881711472011-04-26T11:14:00.002-04:002011-04-27T23:18:45.209-04:00easter part one: tradition, food and family<div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">Part one of my Easter celebration occurred a week early, on Palm Sunday weekend, when Ben and I visited Midland to celebrate with my parents. We made the traditional croissants and a lovely savory tart--now an official tradition as well, I imagine, as it's in its <a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2010/04/photography-and-some-thoughts-on.html">second year</a> (this is the vegetarian substitute for the ham of my childhood, and let me note that my omnivorous parents welcomed the switch and suggested this year's repeat...either <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2008/01/leek-and-swiss-chard-tart/">it's that fabulous</a> or they love me that much. Perhaps both.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qw0ZNvShY_Q/TbeKjL7KKuI/AAAAAAAAATQ/hAUGWFxda5Y/s1600/DSC_7818.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qw0ZNvShY_Q/TbeKjL7KKuI/AAAAAAAAATQ/hAUGWFxda5Y/s640/DSC_7818.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F06HzU_aYwQ/TbeK2TGqf5I/AAAAAAAAATg/9KuYM8jusqg/s1600/DSC_7848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F06HzU_aYwQ/TbeK2TGqf5I/AAAAAAAAATg/9KuYM8jusqg/s640/DSC_7848.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">We are big on food traditions in my family, a fact I am only now beginning to realize. Along with recognizing the reason for the holiday itself, our celebrations primarily involve (1) good conversation and (2) food.</div></div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
When I read food writers I admire, I sometimes think that I just don't fit the mold: I love food; I think about it all the time and wrap stories around meals in my mind. But I don't have a background characterized by <a href="http://www.thewednesdaychef.com/">the interweaving of cultural heritages</a>, my mother's family is not <a href="http://www.kimseverson.com/">Italian with a signature red sauce for proof</a> and my father didn't have any kind of <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/">culinary identification with a place so romantic as Paris</a>.</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But my parents are both excellent cooks. My childhood was marked by my mother's muffins, loaves of honey-wheat bread, macaroni and cheese, strawberry freezer jam and summer fruit crisps, all from scratch. Her incredible birthday cakes reflected my interest of the moment, be it Minnie Mouse, butterflies or basketball.<br />
<br />
In our household, refried beans were made from scratch, though I don't think I realized that the alternative to the beans simmering on the stovetop was encased in a can. My dad specializes in Mexican food and throws down a fabulous pizza. Though more a cook than a baker, he makes an oatmeal bar layered with chocolate that is absolutely divine.</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As I was growing up, we ate dinner together, at home, nearly every night. My sister and I delighted even in simple foods, like crackers topped with cheese melted under the broiler. (And I had no idea how blissfully inexpensive the meal was for our young parents.)</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My mom occasionally threw tea parties for us. We wore hats, and she made scones with clotted cream and cucumber sandwiches. I loved the perfect lines of the sugar cubes stacked in their tiny white bowl, and we sipped our tea from the beautiful and fragile teacups of my grandmother's collection.</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">On our birthdays, we got to choose the menu for dinner (my longest-running choice was my mother's famed chicken and broccoli casserole accompanied by homemade rolls), and each holiday was associated with particular meals and desserts. Unconsciously, I spun these traditions together in my mind. My dad made fudge and party mix only at Christmas and cracked hazelnuts with us for his family's signature holiday cookie; my mom took charge of the intricate Santa cookies and the spritz and the Christmas morning cinnamon roll wreath. On Valentine's Day, she made heart-shaped sugar cookies, decorating them for our school parties with designs in pink and white and light purple frosting. We froze red Kool-Aid to make heart-shaped ice cubes and dropped them in Sprite.<br />
<br />
Springtime brought thumbprint cookies with frosting in pale shades of yellow, pink and green. And on Easter, we ate ham with canned cherries atop, twice-baked potatoes, homemade croissants with jam and a bunny-shaped carrot cake for dessert. <a href="http://sarasglobalcooking.blogspot.com/">My sister's blog</a> confirms that <i>both </i>offspring of this family still equate <a href="http://sarasglobalcooking.blogspot.com/2011/04/thumbprint-cookies.html">thumbprint cookies</a>, <a href="http://sarasglobalcooking.blogspot.com/2011/04/easter.html">those buttery croissants, asparagus and carrot cake topped with cream cheese frosting</a> with the celebration of springtime and Easter.</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In my love of stories, I sometimes miss or discredit my own. And perhaps we have to be adults to truly<i> </i>reflect the influence of our pasts; we have to live long enough to see the story begin to unfold. But these days, as I make my own choices and actually pay attention to them, I am realizing that a significant part of what defines my sense of family, tradition and celebration is food, and this isn't something new to this season of my life. Instead, it's woven throughout my past, just as it is for the aforementioned writers I admire.</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
I found peace in the food traditions that remained constant for our displaced celebration of Easter. And there is something deep that these food traditions communicate--that you <i>celebrate, </i>because life is hard, and celebration helps; that there are things we can rely on, like food and like family; that food not only sustains us but also, blessedly, can be enjoyed communally, in celebration, with the people we love.<br />
<br />
And all of this, as it turns out, I learned from my family as well.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X3_gZHwIYQo/TbeObqmh3oI/AAAAAAAAATw/Qr05AETxrEY/s1600/DSC_7867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X3_gZHwIYQo/TbeObqmh3oI/AAAAAAAAATw/Qr05AETxrEY/s640/DSC_7867.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QXss13NAJWc/TbeOXGkrWbI/AAAAAAAAATs/Oq33cwUDssk/s1600/DSC_7862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QXss13NAJWc/TbeOXGkrWbI/AAAAAAAAATs/Oq33cwUDssk/s640/DSC_7862.JPG" width="640" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></div></div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-27936281310512101112011-04-17T22:09:00.000-04:002011-04-17T22:10:18.039-04:00recuerdos de denia (memories of denia)<div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5HG1W12bGto/TauY7SIdZNI/AAAAAAAAATE/I3YxkwMmaPQ/s1600/P3031720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5HG1W12bGto/TauY7SIdZNI/AAAAAAAAATE/I3YxkwMmaPQ/s640/P3031720.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>I recently wrote a contribution to a book of memories commemorating the twenty-eight years that students from <a href="http://www.calvin.edu/">my alma mater</a>--myself included--studied in the sweet and lovely city of Denia, Spain. The program will be moving from that eastern point of Valencia's coast to Oviedo, and I'm certain the new location will be wonderful, though much colder, and without the people and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fallas">fallas</a> and streets of Denia that I loved.<div><br />
</div><div>I have about a million things that I could say about that beautiful, deep, full semester of my life, the spring of 2007 when I was a sophomore in college, wide-eyed and ready to embrace the world, but for today, I'll just share the reflection I wrote for the book.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Oh Denia. Was it really so long ago?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bfJVd5wxOwg/TauZAwdNt8I/AAAAAAAAATI/HWz3Q1_nd5Y/s1600/P3192121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bfJVd5wxOwg/TauZAwdNt8I/AAAAAAAAATI/HWz3Q1_nd5Y/s640/P3192121.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All of my lovely neighbors</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K_rdOgUgvZg/TauZGuCujmI/AAAAAAAAATM/hTPwZPs_u_w/s1600/P3302592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K_rdOgUgvZg/TauZGuCujmI/AAAAAAAAATM/hTPwZPs_u_w/s640/P3302592.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MarÃa, me and Maite</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><div>Cuando considero mi semestre en Denia, la primera cosa que viene a mi mente es la gente: mi querida mamá española, la hermosa Maite; su amiga MarÃa; mis vecinos; los amigos que conocà en la iglesia; mis profesores. Es verdad que hay un mar increÃble, calles bonitas, un gran castillo y el formidable Montgó, pero últimamente, estas personas son mi Denia.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Maite, mi madre española, influyó mucho mi buena experiencia en España. ComÃamos juntos, me enseñó como hacer una buena tortilla y Ãbamos a los cafés para meriendas de pan tostado y café con leche. Ella compartió conmigo no solo su piso y comida bien preparada; también compartió sus historias, su sabidurÃa y su amor.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Y compartió sus vecinos. La mesa de mis vecinos era una buenÃsima aula de clase. Mientras comÃa un gran plato de paella, escuchaba sus voces, cada uno tratando de hablar más fuerte que los otros, y aprendà mucho de su paÃs y su cultura. Pero también aprendà las cosas que solo se puede descubrir a través de una amistad: las historias personales, las raÃces de su cultura y las razones porque le aman su paÃs.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Y yo también me enamoré de España, de Denia y de cada uno de estas personas queridas.</div><div><br />
</div><div><i>When I think about my semester in Denia, the first thing that comes to mind is the people: my dear Spanish mamá, the beautiful Maite; her friend MarÃa; my neighbors; the friends I met at church; my professors. It's true that there is an incredible sea, lovely streets, a castle and the formidable Montgó, but in the end, these people are my Denia.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Maite, my Spanish mamá, had a tremendous influence on my good experience in Spain. We ate meals together, she taught me how to make a proper tortilla española and we went to the cafés for pan tostado and café con leche. She shared with me not only her flat and delicious meals; she also shared her stories, her wisdom and her love.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>And she shared her neighbors. The table of my neighbors was an excellent classroom. While eating a plate heaped with paella, I would listen to their voices, each one trying to talk over the others, and I learned about their country and their culture. But I also learned the things that one can only learn through friendship: the stories of their lives, the roots of their culture and the reasons why they love their country.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>And I also fell in love with Spain, with Denia and with each one of these dear friends of mine.</i></div></div></div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-31330118466774648582011-03-27T23:21:00.087-04:002011-03-28T22:33:53.532-04:00where I want to be.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o5EAmGrRXMM/TY_3hzRso5I/AAAAAAAAAS4/AX86oPDx8AM/s1600/DSC_7770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o5EAmGrRXMM/TY_3hzRso5I/AAAAAAAAAS4/AX86oPDx8AM/s640/DSC_7770.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Here in Michigan, we are currently in the strange in-between that brings us from winter into spring. One day, the sun shines brilliantly, and the next, there's, oh you know, an ice storm. Of course.<br /><br />I sometimes feel like I'm in that strange space in my life as well. There's much that is good, but other things are...not good. In terms of what frustrates, tires and worries me most, I have tremendous hope for a time in the future when things will be different, but that's still far-off.<br /><br />And really, this is a microcosm of the broader sense of life as already-and-not-yet. We experience some of the wonder and beauty of how things ought to be, how they someday will be, but we're not quite there. Rather, we are perpetually between seasons; life will <i>always </i>be hard and complicated and confusing...though some days more than others.<br /><br />Last Monday, for example, I was feeling quite sad, and rather inexplicably so. My dearest one listened as I told him all of the small things that were contributing to my melancholy state. I'd been thinking about baking a cake, as that's generally a good cure for sadness, and, because he knows me well, he nudged me gently into the kitchen, and, because he is wonderful, he helped. Not too long after, with the cake in the oven and the scent of orange already wafting through the air, we sat back down, and I was surprised to find that I no longer felt quite so out of sorts.<br /><br />Let me be honest: I'm fighting the urge to be rather sentimental right now. And I'm going to give in, if just a little bit. It turns out that it's true that sometimes one singular person can make that which is bad better. Having been in the happy-single camp for twenty-three-and-some solid years, this is kind of a revelation to me. I'm certainly not suggesting that a significant other is necessary; singleness is good and lovely, and community can bring all kinds of beauty and depth and companionship.<br /><br />But for me, right now, when trouble or sadness comes, however small, I know where I want to be: with Ben. And if we happen to be sitting on the chocolate brown futon in my little apartment, the air filled with the aroma of a baking cake bright with the scent of orange...well, all the better.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DlhWgrlTOq0/TY_3mBhiyRI/AAAAAAAAAS8/w8dFtrCYlO8/s1600/DSC_7768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DlhWgrlTOq0/TY_3mBhiyRI/AAAAAAAAAS8/w8dFtrCYlO8/s640/DSC_7768.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7I0ljFEbxAE/TY_3rpw0I-I/AAAAAAAAATA/wowACAZmCWY/s1600/DSC_7784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7I0ljFEbxAE/TY_3rpw0I-I/AAAAAAAAATA/wowACAZmCWY/s640/DSC_7784.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Now. About this cake.<br /><br />Oh, this cake, people,<i> this cake!</i> Along with the delightful flavor of orange, it has a delicate yet rustic crumb, is full of wholesome ingredients and requires only one bowl. One! And if you're wondering when would be an appropriate time to bake it, know that the citrus makes it perfect for winter, but it's also so <i>fresh</i>,<i> </i>like springtime. And as for the in-between times, those always necessitate cake.<br /><br />So anytime, really.<br /><br />Once you have baked this delightful cake, eat a piece late at night while sitting alone in the calm silence, and be reminded that life really is alright. Or share a piece with a friend or neighbor, who will certainly feel loved.<br /><br />And if there is one particular fellow or lady who makes your bad days brighter, hold that hand tightly, share a slice (or two or three) and be very thankful. (Yes, <a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2009/10/love-is-miracle-seriously-people.html">I know</a>. I didn't forget I said that.)<br /><br /><b>Olive Oil Orange Cornmeal Cake</b><br /><i>Adapted slightly <a href="http://thekitchensinkrecipes.com/2011/03/03/thats-enough/">from Kristen at The Kitchen Sink</a>, who adapted slightly from Martha Stewart.</i><br /><i></i><br /><i></i><i>The original recipe calls for blood oranges for the juice and zest, but on that Monday, I was not about to go out to pick up more ingredients, so we used what I had--plain old oranges--and the results were lovely. (The juice was from concentrate, to be honest, and I'm only slightly ashamed. It was easier, and that mattered. But don't worry, we ate the oranges we zested.)</i><br /><br />1/2 cup olive oil, plus more for pan<br />2 large eggs<br />1 1/3 cup sugar, divided<br />1/2 cup orange juice<br />1 1/4 cups white whole wheat flour, or all-purpose<br />1/2 cup coarse-ground cornmeal (I used the pretty red one that happened to be in my freezer)<br />2 teaspoons baking powder<br />1 teaspoon salt<br />Zest of 2 oranges<br /><br />Preheat oven to 375 F. Lightly oil an 8-inch round cake pan. Line the bottom of the pan with a round of parchment paper, and brush the paper with oil as well.<br /><br />In a large bowl, whisk together the oil, eggs and juice along with 1 cup of the sugar. When the mixture is smooth, add the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, salt and orange zest. Whisk gently to combine.<br /><br />Pour batter into the prepared pan, and sprinkle the top evenly with the remaining 1/3 cup of sugar.<br /><br />Bake until the cake begins to pull away from the sides of the pan and a tester inserted in the center emerges clean, 35 to 40 minutes.<br /><br />Cool the cake in its pan for 20 minutes. Run a knife around the edge of the cake, invert it gently onto a plate and remove the parchment paper. Turn the cake back, right-side up, onto a rack to cool completely.<br /><br />Enjoy, with gusto.Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-17946422699480547462011-02-23T23:27:00.020-05:002011-02-24T08:37:59.595-05:00sunshine muffins.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n3RFbxhf0HA/TWXckFQm1AI/AAAAAAAAASo/uc3-TklA39M/s1600/DSC_7621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n3RFbxhf0HA/TWXckFQm1AI/AAAAAAAAASo/uc3-TklA39M/s640/DSC_7621.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>The weather has been a bit out of control this month. And right now, it is rather cold and dark once again in my little region of the world.<br />
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And also, life is <i>hard.</i><br />
<br />
Thus, I feel it is time for some baked goodness on this site.<br />
<br />
We had that little blip of warmer weather, which was so lovely, and although I knew it wouldn't last, I felt sadder than expected when the bitter cold smacked me in the face this past Sunday afternoon, to be followed shortly by snow, and lots of it. But it is still February, after all. Those short days were just a gentle whisper reminding me that spring will come--remember? <i>this</i> is what it feels like--and all shall be well. And I enjoyed it while it lasted, wearing flats outdoors and going for a long run on Saturday morning outside! on dry sidewalks! in sunshine that gloriously tempered the returning cold. That made Sunday, when the storm came in full force, and the early weekday mornings that followed, when I struggled to dislodge my car from its curbside mound of snow and wondered what I would do if I couldn't get out, more bearable. (Note: bearable. Not awesome, but bearable.)<br />
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And regarding these cold temperatures, I am, for the record, attempting to keep things in perspective. In the wee hours one morning in early February, as I ran on the treadmill at the Y, the weather channel informed me that the temperature was hovering at two degrees below zero. Yeah. Cold. I was feeling all sorry for myself as I burrowed my hands in my mittens and my wet hair froze in the thirty-second walk from the doors of the gym to my car. But then, I learned that the morning had dawned in my sister and brother-in-law's current home of Renville, Minnesota with temperatures <i>seventeen degrees below zero.</i><br />
<br />
<i></i>Oh.<br />
<br />
I realized that (1) I am a wimp and (2) I need to calm down and stop complaining.<br />
<br />
So I'm working on that. But in the meantime, since I am still a wimp, I have found that baking does wonders for my soul during these cold months, and the oven warming my apartment doesn't hurt, either. Plus, the only things I've really wanted to eat this winter are soup and baked goods. I've been appeasing my body, making and eating a good deal of both.<br />
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I made these muffins whilst snowed in under sixteen inches of white during that crazy storm at the beginning of February. The night before the storm, my office decided it wouldn't open that next day, and I thought, <i>Is that really necessary? I'm sure it won't be that bad. </i>But when I awoke to impassable roads and a world buried deep in snow, I realized that yes, yes it was necessary. And then I made these muffins.<br />
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If you also find yourself cold, snowed in and/or generally in need of some sunshine, these muffins will make your life a bit brighter. Like those occasional days of sunshine and rising temperatures, they will remind you that spring is coming and all shall be well. They won't solve all of your problems--my cheering up that snowy day required a walk out in the actual sunshine, a bit of human interaction with the many neighbors I encountered unearthing cars and clearing sidewalks and that wonderful man in my life who traipsed through the snow to visit me--but they are certainly an excellent start.<br />
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I made a few changes to the original recipe, replacing the sugar with honey, half of the all-purpose flour with spelt, the currents with raisins and the lemon extract with a slightly greater amount of lemon juice. With the honey and spelt, I aimed for a bit more healthfulness; the raisins and lemon juice were what I happened to have on hand. (It was a blizzard, people.) The spelt added a lovely nuttiness, but I imagine the muffins would be a bit airier and delicate without. I've noted some of the changes below; you can do as you wish. Follow your heart.<br />
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I liked these little bursts of sunshine very much, particularly, in fact, once they had cooled completely, and I actually think they may have been even better the day after. They froze well also, to be defrosted for delightful midweek breakfasts.<br />
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To sunshine!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PBXFIDkWJdQ/TWXceKFKK1I/AAAAAAAAASk/djaYOGUeMLo/s1600/DSC_7603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PBXFIDkWJdQ/TWXceKFKK1I/AAAAAAAAASk/djaYOGUeMLo/s640/DSC_7603.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><b>Citrus-Currant Sunshine Muffins</b><br />
<i>Adapted from Dorie Greenspan's </i>Baking: From my home to yours<br />
<br />
1/2 cup sugar or honey<br />
Zest from 1 orange<br />
2 cups all-purpose flour or 1 cup all-purpose flour + 1 cup spelt flour<br />
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder<br />
1/4 teaspoon baking soda<br />
Pinch of salt<br />
1 cup orange juice<i> (reduce amount slightly if you used honey rather than sugar)</i><br />
2 tablespoons lemon juice<br />
1/4 teaspoon pure lemon extract <i>(if you make a substitution here, check the web for advice from folks who know more about such things than I)</i><br />
1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter, melted and cooled<br />
2 large eggs<br />
3/4 cup dried currants or raisins<br />
<br />
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Butter the twelve molds of a muffin pan of regular size. Place the muffin pan on a baking sheet <i>(to be honest, I'm not yet convinced that this makes a significant difference, but since it's a little tiny step that creates no additional mess, I've been doing it anyway lately)</i>.<br />
<br />
In a large bowl, rub the sugar and orange zest together with your fingertips until the sugar is moist and the orange zest fragrant <i>(if you use honey and/or purchased rather than fresh zest, make do with vigorous mixing. Also, if you use honey, include it with the wet ingredients rather than the dry)</i>. Whisk in the flour(s), baking powder, baking soda and salt.<br />
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In another bowl, whisk together the orange and lemon juices, lemon extract, melted butter and eggs.<br />
<br />
Pour the wet ingredients over the dry and mix gently but quickly until blended. Lumps are fine and preferable to overmixing. Fold in the currants or raisins. Divide the batter evenly among the muffin cups.<br />
<br />
Bake for about 20 minutes <i>(watch closely if you used honey rather than sugar; baked goods with honey tend to brown more quickly)</i>, or until the tops of the muffins are golden and a knife inserted in the center of one comes out clean. Transfer the pan to a rack and cool for about 5 minutes before removing the muffins from the molds.<br />
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Eat warm or at room temperature, top with jam or butter, pair with coffee, think of sunshine.<br />
<br />
Yield: 12 muffins<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-31227490856819245222011-02-01T22:09:00.004-05:002011-02-01T22:20:31.716-05:00be gentle with yourself.I have these two bruises on my left thigh, tinted various and unpleasant shades of darkness, and I have no idea where they came from. I assume I ran into something, or, more likely, two somethings, which is not all that shocking, although I have no recollection of it.<br /><div><br />But watching them turn a sickly shade of green, I thought, <i>you ought to be a bit more gentle with yourself.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>One morning last week, I attempted a new and, I hoped, shorter route to work from the Y downtown. I embarked on my journey in high spirits, poised to reach my office in a timely manner with my run for the day finished, a much-diminished feeling of wrath toward running around the indoor track acquired and my mittened hand holding warm coffee from the little kiosk at the Y (people! if you bring a mug, the coffee costs just fifty cents!). I had positivity in abundance, which, the previous week considered, was quite a feat. I got on the first highway of my new path going in the correct direction, patting myself on the back for knowing my city so well. (I recognize that this was, in actuality, a teeny tiny accomplishment at best. But I take happiness on winter mornings pretty much regardless of its source.)</div><div><br /></div><div>However. My positivity was short-lived.</div><div><br /></div><div>I will abstain from relaying the details, but in the end, I learned that 96 and I-96 are <i>not</i>, in fact, the same highway and that simply "going west" will not necessarily take a person from downtown Grand Rapids to Grandville. Terrifying little flakes fell persistently from the sky, making the highway slick and treacherous. First, I thought I might die. Then, I just felt like an idiot.<br /><br />I arrived very late to work.</div><div><br /></div><div>I apologized to the appropriate parties, who were nowhere near as upset as I had assumed they would be (perhaps because they don't have to pay me when I'm not there) and made my way to the safety of my desk. Throughout the next several hours, I mentally reviewed my laundry list of latest offenses: I have a very long to do list at work; surely I could be accomplishing things more quickly, and probably better. Though I think I handled a recent professional situation as well as could be expected, I'm afraid I didn't, or, at the least, that I left a destructive wake behind me. I recently overslept, late that day as well. Running hasn't felt great lately. The image in the mirror is not meeting my demands for perfection. I keep having emotional breakdowns, imposing my weepy self on the poor folks who care about me...<br /><br />And on and on I went, crafting an ugly composite of every flaw, shortcoming, mistake and bad morning...until I felt a gentle whisper rising above my inner tirade:</div><div><div><br /></div><div><i>Be gentle with yourself.</i></div></div><div><br />I paused. <i>Are you sure, God? </i>I questioned.<br /><br />Honestly. Of course he's sure.<br /><br />But behind that question, I realize, lies another one, a deeper one: <i>Do I really deserve gentleness?</i><br /><br />Most often, instead of seeing the very best of who we are or, even better, a healthy, realistic mixture of the good and bad, we see only the worst, and we think that's appropriate, because we don't believe we deserve gentleness anyway. And, frankly, that much is true: we don't <i>deserve </i>gentleness. But it's given to us, and who are we to argue with God?<br /><br />It is one thing to be humble, to work to strengthen our weak areas, to improve and grow and strive to be more loving and more like Christ. But it is quite another to truly dislike ourselves, image-bearers and much-loved children of God. It is quite another to refuse the gifts of gentleness, grace and mercy.<br /><br /></div><div>I recently spoke with a woman who goes to my church and who I've long admired. We were talking about life and balance, how we get into a really great rhythm for, oh, six seconds, and then it all falls apart once again. Even though she has, you know, a husband and small children and probably many more commitments than I and also great hair and excellent style, she seemed much less fazed by this aspect of life than I have been feeling--though she had clearly experienced it, too. She shared the simple words that God has given her:</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>This is enough.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><i></i>What we can give, what we can do, the coffee dates we have time for, the errands we check off our lists, the work we accomplish in a day...whatever it might be, it is enough.<br /><br />That seems like gentleness to me. That seems right.<br /><br />And so, when I do something less than brilliant, when I'm confronted with my not-favorite aspect of myself, when I gaze at a long to do list, when I fail...I will try to be gentle. I urge you to do the same. Perhaps we'll impose less bruises on our fragile souls.</div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-68568581475762185732011-01-11T23:36:00.032-05:002011-01-12T00:31:08.789-05:00winter blues and reveling.I have been feeling rather blue.<br /><br />There are various contributing factors, of course, some of them related to life, most of them related to work and/or my professional angst and unrest, but there is also winter. And as much as I love four seasons and pretty snowflakes and big drifts of white, the cold always seems to reach its icy fingers past the warmth of my scarves and into my life.<br /><br />It is very cold here in Michigan. It is also very dark. Perhaps if I were better at pretending I was warm, I might not experience the cold so fiercely, but I'm not sure I'm capable of that. Perhaps if I had a window in my office at work, I'd feel cheerier, but I don't think anyone would look kindly on my punching a hole through the ceiling to reach the outdoors. Thus, my experience of life right now is very cold and very dark.<br /><br />Furthermore, my front steps remain coated in ice, regardless of how much salt I toss over them, because the roof keeps drip drip dripping whenever the temperature rises, and the cold world keeps freezing again.<br /><br />And also, I am tired of darting around the track at the Y, where instead of interesting old houses and people walking their dogs to look at and my favorite bakeries' windows to peer into, I have only the same four walls to examine as I go around and around, seven times to a mile, as well as more darkness beyond the windows and all kinds of fit people to compare myself to.<br /><br />But let me attempt positivity: the Y is also bright, warm and sans slippery ice. Also, on certain days, I have the mass of women (plus four or so men) doing Zumba to entertain me, which I guess is pretty great. I am particularly fond of the old ladies, who I cheer on enthusiastically in my mind.<br /><br />Last night, through tears, I was talking to my sweetheart about all of the things that are contributing to my sadness, and I recalled this time last year, when I had only recently moved into my current apartment, my very first situation living alone. I was thoroughly enjoying my new living quarters, sparsely decorated at the time, and deeply appreciating being employed full time and having health insurance. But I also remember the evenings when I would come home from work, go for a long run, make dinner, sit down to eat well past nine or ten and realize how soon I would be returning to the office. I remember crying on the phone to my mother when I hit my first true season of monotony, with its sad rhythm and mornings I wasn't really looking forward to waking for.<br /><br />And what then? This is always my question, because I know that this is the stuff of life, as is inexplicable joy, which hopefully comes with greater frequency than sadness, and as are those times when everything, every comment and snowflake and encounter with a stranger, feels full of beauty and meaning. But what do we do when we wake one morning, our souls aching for whatever compilation of reasons, thinking, <i>is this really it? Is "okay" the most I can reasonably ask for?</i> What do we do when we want nothing more than for things to be somehow different, though we cannot explain what it is that we want, or perhaps just to go back to bed until the sun is shining again?<br /><br />I don't have a concrete answer.<br /><br />But today, one of my dearest friends responded to an email relaying my every realized cause for sadness with an invitation to be with her this evening. So I forced myself to the gym after work to circle the aforementioned silly track twenty-one times, and after a warm shower, I put on my coziest sweater, compliments of my dear aunt in Phoenix, and reminded myself of her vibrancy, trying to bring a bit of it, as well as a few rays of the Arizona sun, into my soul.<br /><br />And then came the answer to my current version of the winter blues. My dear friend and I enjoyed warm drinks and biscotti at a bookstore while tiny snowflakes fell from the sky outside, and she listened to everything I needed to say and responded with exactly what I needed to hear. She gave me freedom to feel and hurt and share and then comforted me, telling me that things are and will be okay, giving me the reasons why.<br /><br />I suddenly felt the opposite of melancholy.<br /><br />And this is the inexplicable joy I spoke of.<br /><br />So what is the cure for sadness and winter blues? I'm still not sure. Probably something about love and honesty and the Holy Spirit. But whatever it is, I just experienced it.<br /><br />Tomorrow is my birthday, and birthdays are times for reveling in the joy of being alive. It is cold and dark, and life is hard, but I will revel nonetheless. Because even in the darkness, I keep encountering beauty and love and warmth and truth spoken by those dearest to me.<br /><br />All is well indeed.Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-54816910558819311582010-12-28T23:41:00.001-05:002010-12-29T00:08:10.466-05:00not what anyone expected.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TRq44pKPFcI/AAAAAAAAASY/AMbKZzHVT84/s1600/DSC_7521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TRq44pKPFcI/AAAAAAAAASY/AMbKZzHVT84/s640/DSC_7521.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TRq47lBdnfI/AAAAAAAAASc/cE83-Pt9cYs/s1600/DSC_7532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TRq47lBdnfI/AAAAAAAAASc/cE83-Pt9cYs/s640/DSC_7532.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>During Christmastime, with all its familiarity and the season's flurry of activity, it is easy to drift into our routine of celebration without seeing the source of celebration with new eyes. Last year, though, I was struck afresh by <a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2009/12/holiday-hope.html">the <i>hope</i> of Advent</a>. So this year, I was searching for something to make it new for me again. I was joyfully waltzing through the season, but I wanted it to be <b>deep and beautiful and newly profound</b>. And by some kind of grace, that newness finally came on Christmas Eve.<br /><br />At work, I've been updating our <i>Survey of the Bible </i>course, and last week, I edited, revised and began skimming through the entire thing. As I followed its tracing of the drama of redemption from the beginning, outlined in the early chapters of Genesis, to the present day, I was reminded of the words of the prophets and the oldest recorded promises of God...promises about the one who would come, the Prince of Peace who would reign and make all things right. I recalled the lineage of Jesus, his family tree full of sinners and marginalized folks and very few that we would choose as precursors to the king of everything.<br /><br />On Christmas Eve at my parents' church, the church I grew up in, the liturgy included <a href="http://www.worshiphousemedia.com/mini-movies/10857/Nativity-Story">a video of a little white line</a> blazing through a dark screen, accompanied by captivating piano music, tracing a picture of Bethlehem and the star, Mary and Joseph traveling, shepherds, angels...and then, the small baby Jesus in the manger.<br /><br />And it was so simple. But at moment 1:50 of the video, when that tiny manger and outline of a baby were traced on the screen above me, with the promises of the prophets still on my mind, I thought, <i><b>This wasn't what anyone expected.</b></i><br /><br /><i></i>They were waiting for a king. They were waiting for power and grandeur and fanfare. I imagine that they watched the rulers and leaders of the day, wondering, <i>Is he the one? Is he? How about this king? This prince? This priest?</i><br /><br />No one was looking at insignificant young girls in Nazareth. No one expecting a king would have been paying attention to the life of a poor carpenter. Who would have connected the census to the most monumental religious event ever to occur? Who would have been watching the births of infant boys in rural villages? Who would have kept an eye on the stables in the countryside?<br /><br />This wasn't what they expected. This wasn't what <i>I</i> would have expected.<br /><br /><b>But this was it. </b>This was what every single prophecy pointed toward. The tiny baby conceived by a virgin, born in a stable, placed in a feeding trough, resting on a mattress of hay, comforted by the moans of cattle, gazed on by dirty shepherds, with a lineage marked by prostitutes and sinners and nobodies...<i>this </i>was the Savior.<br /><b><br />And frankly, a god who would orchestrate a story as unexpected as that to bring about our salvation is the kind of god I want to follow.</b><br /><br />I want to serve an unpredictable, unconventional god. I want to serve a god who would write that kind of narrative, full of adventure and heart and nothing anyone anticipated.<br /><br />And that's what I have been dwelling on this season. I know that all of this has been said before, in one way or another, but as I step back and think rationally, I am remembering once again that this is one incredible story.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TRq40BPZjDI/AAAAAAAAASU/U1opAD5GgK8/s1600/DSC_7538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TRq40BPZjDI/AAAAAAAAASU/U1opAD5GgK8/s640/DSC_7538.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>So. Merry Christmas. For me, these past days have been marked by quality time and good food and much laughter, and I hope you've been experiencing the same. I've been enjoying time with my family, all the five of us together, and I still have a few more days to revel in the joy of these dear ones and others close to my heart.<br /><br />By the way, I know I didn't deliver on my promises of fall summaries and snapshots. Something of the sort might still appear, but this coming year, I'm resolving to keep shorter to do lists and minimize the demands I place on myself. So in the spirit of <i>just living</i>, I shall make no promises!<br /><br />An now, enjoy these last few days of 2010, my friends.Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-13729350953587541192010-12-03T18:05:00.053-05:002010-12-04T02:05:58.288-05:00happy december!As if prompted by the turning of calendar pages and the pending opening of that first tiny door of the Advent calendar, snow began to fall on Tuesday night, and December greeted me with a thin blanket of white and a shaken snow globe of sky.<div><br /></div><div>After a rainy Tuesday, I had gone to bed hoping for snow to greet me in the morning. And as soon as I could force myself out of my warm bed on Wednesday, the first of December, I scampered to the front window to peek outside--and lo! a winter wonderland. (I know, I'm five. But really, people, it's enchanting.)<br /><br />Over the past few days, I pushed inches of snow off my windshield, narrowly avoided slipping on icy steps, holiday shop hopped and purchased a Christmas gift. This weekend, I plan to go to a holiday artists' market, make Christmas cookies and help pick out another Christmas tree.<br /><br />And so, with those festive activities, snow, the month of December and food bloggers the world 'round posting cookie recipes, the season now begins in earnest! To inspire you, two photographs from Thanksgiving weekend:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TPnjRrdovrI/AAAAAAAAAR8/vj1bzj945Pg/s1600/DSC_7394.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TPnjRrdovrI/AAAAAAAAAR8/vj1bzj945Pg/s640/DSC_7394.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TPnjgvURaTI/AAAAAAAAASE/9VVq58dpJpg/s1600/DSC_7417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TPnjgvURaTI/AAAAAAAAASE/9VVq58dpJpg/s640/DSC_7417.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>(What, isn't this what <i>your</i> family does at the Christmas tree farm?)<br /><br />I plan to return with a few fall summary/flashback posts this weekend, and then, I promise you, I will focus solely on the current season.<br /><br />In sum: It's December! There is snow! Life is beautiful! Merry Christmastime!</div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-67250927680944435232010-11-29T19:15:00.161-05:002010-11-30T13:28:39.686-05:00the thanks giving post.Though <b>Thanksgiving has come and gone</b>, I want to voice my thanks before continuing on with updates and new reflections and the Christmas-themed posts sure to ensue.<br /><div><br /><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I got out of town and had a wonderful holiday weekend with family and an extension of my family (aka my brother-in-law's family...my family in-law in-law?) and also that boy I'm so fond of. We went to <a href="http://www.klucknursery.com/">fetch the Christmas tree</a> for my parents' house and decorated it with twinkly lights and cheery ornaments, which means that I will soon begin <b>waxing poetic and becoming wildly excited </b>about any- and everything even remotely related to Christmas. That's right. Be ready.</div></div><div></div><br /></div><div>But first, some giving of thanks.<br /><br />It's unfortunate that we need a national holiday to remind us to be thankful, but it seems that we do. (We don't need a national holiday to remind us to eat, so I'm going to stick to giving thanks as the primary purpose of the day/this post.) I probably complain more than I give thanks, which is a horribly skewed way of going about things in a life that has been filled with far more goodness than suffering.</div><div><br />And I <i>want</i> to live a life of gratitude.<br /><br /></div><div><b>There is much to be thankful for, after all.</b> On the most elementary level, I am thankful for the <b>material things </b>that I have but don't need<i> </i>or deserve and so many go without--big things like plenty of food for the table and a little apartment all my own; simple and ultimately unnecessary things like <a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2009/11/tranquility-friendship-and-banana-bread.html">cooling racks for hot loaves of bread</a>; the electric blanket and humidifier that, though also unnecessary, make my Michigan winters much more bearable; shoes for my feet to stay warm and my body well, <a href="http://www.toms.com/our-movement">because it could be otherwise</a>.<br /><br />And of course, there are the<b> good people surrounding me</b>. There's this one girl who has now lovingly listened to a year's worth of joy and heartache and anxiety, who picked much of my summer sustenance with her very own hands, with whom I've never cooked a disappointing meal and whose single-syllable laugh I at some point unconsciously picked up. There's this other lovely lady in my city but from my hometown who absolutely makes my "short list," whose presence seems to ensure an eventful evening out and with whom a bottle of wine, a dessert (two desserts?), a platter of cheeses or a Valentine's day celebration was never unhappily shared. There is an incredible woman who believes in me more than I believe in myself, has a strength and vitality I strive to emulate and is the kind of mother that makes me want to be a mother.</div><div><br />I have a father who is a source of constant joy and offers much-needed guidance for my professional life on a regular basis, and my mom--who is also one of my very best friends--listens to me talk nonstop whenever I need to. (Seriously. My parents are awesome.) My sister and brother-in-law are living in the same country I am living in, which is something to be thankful for in itself, and on top of that, they are great house guests, read even my longest emails without complaining and are full of wisdom and hope.<br /><br /><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">There are good folks at my workplace; wise mentors from college and church; dear old friends now living in other cities, states and countries far off; kind landlords who fix even little things like broken doorknobs; new, inspiring acquaintances in this city that is my home.</div></div><div></div><br />And there is also a boy who makes me laugh until my face hurts, sees the bit of goodness in everything, listens to every last story even from a boring day, runs with me in the dark, cares about the world and appreciates a good meal or a well-made scone just as much as I do.<br /><br /></div><div><div>Along with all of that, I give thanks for the<b> great big things</b>, the things I ought to be expressing gratitude for with every breath: justice in my daily life, freedom, opportunity, health, peace in my neighborhood--and <b>a good and sovereign God who holds everything</b>, even that which is not just or peaceful or right.</div><div><br />Finally, I am thankful for a vast <b>miscellany </b>of other gratitude-inducing aspects of my life, such as my (currently) pest-and-<a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2009/11/happiness-yes.html">rodent</a>-free apartment, the fact that said apartment is in a house painted purple, my job (for both its good days and its bad ones), my little office <a href="http://sladenburger.blogspot.com/2009/11/thankfulness-can-be-hard.html">with its fake plant</a>, local businesses where <a href="http://www.globalinfusion.net/">they</a> <a href="http://www.mariecatribs.com/">know</a> <a href="http://www.madcapblog.com/">my name</a> and cardigans and baked goods and music and artwork and poetry and cookbooks and hope.<br /><br /></div><div><b>May I remain thankful all the year 'round.</b></div></div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-39729353378459627472010-10-22T17:08:00.002-04:002010-10-24T18:29:23.976-04:00on chocolate/pear cake, running and autumn.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TMJqE_eyk7I/AAAAAAAAARw/XCyGhiQ-pbQ/s1600/DSC_7196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TMJqE_eyk7I/AAAAAAAAARw/XCyGhiQ-pbQ/s400/DSC_7196.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>On the brink of another autumn weekend--oh autumn how I love you!--I wanted to review last weekend's loveliness.<br /><br />I made <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2009/01/bittersweet-chocolate-and-pear-cake/">this Bittersweet Chocolate and Pear Cake</a> for some very dear friends' housewarming party. The cake met with great approval, though with its farmers market pears and specks of dark chocolate and that golden taste of browned butter, I shouldn't be surprised. Yet in my personal philosophy, anything remotely worthy of celebration ought to be celebrated, and baking success certainly falls into that camp--as does that happy house filled with some of my favorite people. And so I celebrate. And we eat cake.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TMJpoiRXFII/AAAAAAAAARs/6p---a4me_A/s1600/DSC_7210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TMJpoiRXFII/AAAAAAAAARs/6p---a4me_A/s400/DSC_7210.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Following that lovely evening, I awoke to Sunday's perfectly crisp air and bright sunlight and cool temperatures to run the <a href="http://www.grandrapidsmarathon.com/">Grand Rapids Half Marathon</a>, which I accomplished in a pleasing 1 hour and 43 minutes. I was thrilled with <a href="http://results.active.com/pages/oneResult.jsp?pID=92987942&rsID=101567">my time and stats and so forth</a>. And I will probably regret what I'm about to do, but if you're interested in proof that I was running that morning, <a href="http://www.backprint.com/view_user_event.asp?PID=bp%18yG&EVENTID=73183&PWD=&BIB=10667">here it is</a>. I promise, people, despite the look on my face in the majority of those photographs, I <i>do </i>enjoy running. Ha. But it was an utterly perfect day; it really was. Mist hovered across open grass, and the wooded areas of the route blazed with brilliant colors. People ran in great herds--such camaraderie!--and families and friends held signs and chased the route on bicycles and cheered. And on top of all of that, there's this really great guy who woke up early early early in the morning to bring me downtown to the race and cheer me on. This, of course, made the day all the more wonderful. I am blessed indeed.<br /><br />Then, in the spirit of recovery, four pals and I enjoyed an afternoon of sun and fall colors paired with fresh donuts and hot apple cider. Delightful.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TMJndko9mjI/AAAAAAAAARg/Q0UyJsvc8xg/s1600/DSC_7246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TMJndko9mjI/AAAAAAAAARg/Q0UyJsvc8xg/s400/DSC_7246.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>So with that, cheers to another weekend! May your mornings be bright and your cider be warm, my friends.Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-22346394421505089852010-10-14T17:03:00.003-04:002010-10-15T10:14:29.475-04:00i don't want to miss it.I have a whole slew of things I want to write about and recipes I would like to share and pictures to post from events and excursions back in September...but for the moment, I offer something a bit more simple.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>I'm compelled to write about changing seasons over and over again here. And I think I've said before that I don't know what it is that intrigues me so about this process in nature and the emotions and feelings and memories it evokes in us (or me, at least). But I'm fascinated. On top of that, I adore fall. Yesterday, I read the following in <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2007/10/butternut-squash-and-caramelized-onion-galette/">an old post</a> from <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/">the Smitten Kitchen</a>: <i>I love fall. I mean, I know how decidedly unoriginal that is to say, but I can't help it. </i>And I'm sure it's even <i>more</i> unoriginal to say it by way of quotation, but doing so makes me feel less alone in my decided un-originality and weakness for all of the beauties of fall--the bright splashes of color in the trees, the crunch of the leaves on the ground, the chill of the crisp air, the apples and squash and cider and dark leafy greens...</div><div><br />
</div><div>And yet. I'm afraid I'm missing it. I'm afraid I'm missing the change of seasons and the glory of autumn and...life. It feels as though there has been so much going on--trips and visitors and a conference and meetings and deadlines and events and friends and a race to train for and an apartment to clean and my first and then second illness of the season--and on top of that, I have the overworking of my mind to contend with as I overanalyze my life, worry about all of the injustice and mess of the world and pursue the impossible task of figuring out both the present and the future <i>right now</i> while staying poised and trying not to let anyone see that I'm a bit afraid of all that may or may not come.</div><div><br />
</div><div>When I got home from work yesterday, I felt that fall had suddenly begun in earnest while I was tucked away in my office. As I walked to my front door, it seemed that I was brushing through more layers of leaves than before, and the air had that <i>feel </i>of autumn that I can't possibly describe with words, and it finally smelled like the season.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I went outside for a moment today on my lunch break. I didn't have any errands to run, and I didn't really want to go anywhere. But before staying in (to write this post--something <i>other</i> than a grant request or press release or newsletter), I wanted to catch a bit of the sunlight on my face, to see the brightness of the leaves in their splendor, to feel a little more free and alive.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It was perfect. Still, cool, bright.</div><div><br />
</div><div>And I don't want to miss this...this season, this time of my life, this moment. It's too easy to wish it all away.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So tonight, I will appreciate the wonder of the season as I run through the leaves covering the sidewalks of my neighborhood, and I will revel in and enjoy the present moments of my life. This weekend, I will bake for friends with autumn fruits and happily run a race in my city. I will appreciate and love well the good folks that surround me. I will decide what needs to be decided, and I will let everything else rest, peacefully. I won't worry about the future...the bluster and ice of the winter to come or the elements of the life that awaits me.</div><div><br />
</div><div>There is too much goodness in my life and in this world to be anything but thankful.</div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-28002629546018393972010-09-21T21:56:00.003-04:002010-09-21T22:02:05.371-04:00summer eating.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As promised, in following are some summer food photographs. I'm well aware how belatedly I'm posting this, but for a few more hours, I remind you, it is still officially summer. Besides, the temperatures climbed into the eighties today here in GR, so I think this remains relevant. Enjoy!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hot oats are my winter staple; this summer, I replaced them with homemade muesli for the sake of staying cool. My version builds from <a href="http://bferry.wordpress.com/2010/02/23/in-the-morning/">this recipe</a>, and it's a bit different each time, depending on my mood and the fruit in season. (The photograph below might actually be some variant on simple toasted oats, but I cannot remember, and it's close enough to muesli to include it here, I'd say.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVl2IOQbfI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/5pouVA4x7vg/s1600/DSC_5619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVl2IOQbfI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/5pouVA4x7vg/s640/DSC_5619.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When I spent the summer in Phoenix two years ago, I became quite enamored with the Health Muffin served at <a href="http://www.luxcoffee.com/">a great coffee shop</a> that also introduced me to latte art and created all kinds of baked goodness in its tiny kitchen in the back. When I left Phoenix, I asked if they might be willing to share the recipe, and they happily told me that it springs from the one found on the back of bags of Bob's Red Mill flaxseed. Perhaps someday I'll post my version, but until then, go find yourself said package of flax and simply substitute fresh summer fruit (blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, peaches or a combination) for the apples and zucchini for some or all of the carrots. You will be pleased with the results, I am sure.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVlncgCj2I/AAAAAAAAAQE/jyRGvmAR96c/s1600/DSC_5581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVlncgCj2I/AAAAAAAAAQE/jyRGvmAR96c/s640/DSC_5581.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sweet Green Pea Crostini, quite heavenly indeed. Recipe found <a href="http://www.thedinnerfiles.com/2010/05/07/sweet-green-pea-crostini/">here</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVlrlTjw_I/AAAAAAAAAQI/lbynTvVLsW8/s1600/DSC_5596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVlrlTjw_I/AAAAAAAAAQI/lbynTvVLsW8/s640/DSC_5596.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">An excellent meal prepared and enjoyed with Sarah G. and Ben on the fourth of July.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVlwxYRusI/AAAAAAAAAQM/mBDdadY-rrA/s1600/DSC_5615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVlwxYRusI/AAAAAAAAAQM/mBDdadY-rrA/s640/DSC_5615.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Plum-Rosemary Upside-Down Cake, recipe compliments of Mark Bittman in <i>How to Cook Everything Vegetarian</i>, baked with Taylor in hopes of speeding Ben's recovery from surgery midsummer. This was also the night on which Taylor gave me <a href="http://gallery2.vossphotos.com/taylor/2010/july/1-15/DSC_1024.jpg.html">my 50mm prime lens</a>, which I am in love with.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVliSS5XUI/AAAAAAAAAQA/3T2YLWfPCig/s1600/DSC_5580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVliSS5XUI/AAAAAAAAAQA/3T2YLWfPCig/s640/DSC_5580.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This cake is called Blueberry Boy Bait. What a name! I felt the same way <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2009/07/blueberry-boy-bait/">this lady</a> did...how could I not bake a cake with such a great name--and a great story to boot? (Effective, you ask? Perhaps. I <i>did </i>say it was a lovely summer. But I disclose nothing more.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVl8kzkdcI/AAAAAAAAAQU/xAiNcwTd30M/s1600/DSC_5958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVl8kzkdcI/AAAAAAAAAQU/xAiNcwTd30M/s640/DSC_5958.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And finally, a nectarine and blueberry tart that I baked with my sister the first time she and the dear brother-in-law stayed at my little place. Inspired by <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/2008/07/important-parts.html">two</a> <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2009/08/nectarine-galette/">other</a> recipes, we came up with our own version, which <a href="http://sarasglobalcooking.blogspot.com/2010/08/blueberries.html">Sara posted</a> on her blog. Here I have adorned it with some Greek yogurt. Incredible.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVmCDRdADI/AAAAAAAAAQY/5c8Gecn50F0/s1600/DSC_6132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJVmCDRdADI/AAAAAAAAAQY/5c8Gecn50F0/s640/DSC_6132.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All that said, bring on the apples and butternut squash and sweet potatoes and dark leafy greens. I have extra blankets for my bed and have unearthed my stash of scarves. I am ready for fall.</div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-73459071359969032952010-09-16T11:29:00.000-04:002010-09-16T00:31:24.109-04:00summer in review.Though it is not officially fall, summer has undeniably begun to slip away, marked by shorter days, cool morning air and the occasional gold leaves at the fingers of trees. Summer has flown by, and I'm astonished that it is over, but it was a delight, full of good times with lovely people, notable happenings, some wonderful travels, much fresh produce and the simple joys of the season.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJF6aqZC2tI/AAAAAAAAAOs/ds3jOaTefyg/s1600/DSC_5606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJF6aqZC2tI/AAAAAAAAAOs/ds3jOaTefyg/s640/DSC_5606.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>And before I begin to speak of tights and scarves, brisk winds and fallen leaves crunching underfoot, apple cider and winter squash, I give the following photographic review of the summertime (note: stay tuned for an addendum of food photos later this week).<br />
<br />
There were days at the beach<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJRDivmbI/AAAAAAAAAOw/utLX3q8n9sU/s1600/DSC_5362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJRDivmbI/AAAAAAAAAOw/utLX3q8n9sU/s640/DSC_5362.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>and beautiful sunsets<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJWu4F3TI/AAAAAAAAAO0/6x4lq9--tLY/s1600/DSC_5415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJWu4F3TI/AAAAAAAAAO0/6x4lq9--tLY/s640/DSC_5415.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and lazy Saturday mornings spent at coffee shops</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKY1td4mI/AAAAAAAAAPs/EVrWjcJRz_A/s1600/DSC_6189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKY1td4mI/AAAAAAAAAPs/EVrWjcJRz_A/s640/DSC_6189.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>and the farmers market.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKEnosxrI/AAAAAAAAAPc/ybddKnFjwIE/s1600/DSC_6047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKEnosxrI/AAAAAAAAAPc/ybddKnFjwIE/s400/DSC_6047.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKJm98DGI/AAAAAAAAAPg/RyhJSGCzmO8/s1600/DSC_6052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKJm98DGI/AAAAAAAAAPg/RyhJSGCzmO8/s400/DSC_6052.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKTomIEoI/AAAAAAAAAPo/EHRs_Zavnc8/s1600/DSC_6056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKTomIEoI/AAAAAAAAAPo/EHRs_Zavnc8/s400/DSC_6056.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKAKx0X2I/AAAAAAAAAPY/6f8YN68G_CA/s1600/DSC_6037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGKAKx0X2I/AAAAAAAAAPY/6f8YN68G_CA/s400/DSC_6037.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>(That girl is my favorite farmer.)<br />
<br />
There was a trip to Chicago with dear friends,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJgqd_3PI/AAAAAAAAAO8/ZvE8dfQqyaQ/s1600/DSC_5693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJgqd_3PI/AAAAAAAAAO8/ZvE8dfQqyaQ/s400/DSC_5693.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJbbDp7hI/AAAAAAAAAO4/_zAYDutcYjE/s1600/DSC_5674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJbbDp7hI/AAAAAAAAAO4/_zAYDutcYjE/s400/DSC_5674.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>and numerous visitors graced the city of Grand Rapids.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJuxaeP0I/AAAAAAAAAPI/u4fRUV7nRIU/s1600/DSC_5784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJuxaeP0I/AAAAAAAAAPI/u4fRUV7nRIU/s400/DSC_5784.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>These folks got married,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJy7emaEI/AAAAAAAAAPM/qPNG8vW7e3g/s1600/DSC_5808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJy7emaEI/AAAAAAAAAPM/qPNG8vW7e3g/s400/DSC_5808.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>as did these.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJ2wY2zqI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/fYaOLlVeszg/s1600/DSC_5925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJ2wY2zqI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/fYaOLlVeszg/s400/DSC_5925.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>(There was much celebration.)<br />
<br />
And in culmination of everything, my dear sister and brother-in-law returned to these United States, a delight I'm still reveling in.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJ7lrqDBI/AAAAAAAAAPU/4GHgzGrHnks/s1600/DSC_5996_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGJ7lrqDBI/AAAAAAAAAPU/4GHgzGrHnks/s640/DSC_5996_2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It has been a lovely summer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We have picked berries,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGWgMsxTDI/AAAAAAAAAPw/32hATQkBq7s/s1600/DSC_6100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGWgMsxTDI/AAAAAAAAAPw/32hATQkBq7s/s640/DSC_6100.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and we have picnicked... What more could a girl ask for?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGW-Tl4IwI/AAAAAAAAAP4/GsEtwWsCoZg/s1600/DSC_6271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TJGW-Tl4IwI/AAAAAAAAAP4/GsEtwWsCoZg/s640/DSC_6271.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>In the summer, the song sings itself.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">--William Carlos Williams</div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-21732380819288564012010-09-02T21:50:00.001-04:002010-09-02T21:54:04.893-04:00i have eaten the plums.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TIBIPo56j7I/AAAAAAAAAOk/LdlyUV8zDJA/s1600/DSC_6184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TIBIPo56j7I/AAAAAAAAAOk/LdlyUV8zDJA/s400/DSC_6184.JPG" width="400" /></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><b>This Is Just To Say</b><br />by William Carlos Williams (1934)<br /><br />I have eaten<br />the plums<br />that were in<br />the icebox<br /><br />and which<br />you were probably<br />saving<br />for breakfast<br /><br />Forgive me<br />they were delicious<br />so sweet<br />and so cold<br /><br /><i>I love this poem. However, it is rather irrelevant to my situation; indeed, there are upsides to living alone! Anyway, my friends, I wish you all a happy September</i><i>. Enjoy these lingering days of summertime (remember, it's not over until it's over). More of an update to come shortly, I promise, and in the meantime, be generous and gracious when it comes to the summer stone fruits in your icebox. But perhaps buy a few extra, too, just to be safe.</i>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-31682736701996251292010-07-28T17:47:00.000-04:002010-07-28T17:47:56.488-04:00to live everything.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TFCkqLJF8HI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/e6i3hsGEsX0/s1600/DSC_5779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TFCkqLJF8HI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/e6i3hsGEsX0/s400/DSC_5779.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart, and try to love the questions themselves, as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign tongue. Don't search for answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">--R.M. Rilke</div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434285382417838577.post-42977172103724572572010-07-24T16:41:00.000-04:002010-07-24T16:41:03.320-04:00what is it you plan to do...?<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TEtMWZHjRII/AAAAAAAAAOI/vLiQ_Fl1wXE/s1600/DSC_5835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TEtMWZHjRII/AAAAAAAAAOI/vLiQ_Fl1wXE/s640/DSC_5835.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><b><br />
</b><br />
<b>The Summer Day</b><br />
by Mary Oliver (from <i>New and Selected Poems, </i>1992)<br />
<br />
Who made the world?</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Who made the swan, and the black bear?</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Who made the grasshopper?</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">This grasshopper, I mean-</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">the one who has flung herself out of the grass,</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't know exactly what a prayer is.</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">which is what I have been doing all day.</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Tell me, what else should I have done?</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Tell me, what is it you plan to do</i></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>with<b> your one wild and precious life?</b></i></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TEtMbtR5wgI/AAAAAAAAAOM/FrKVhxlRios/s1600/DSC_5765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZMvzBzQd8cI/TEtMbtR5wgI/AAAAAAAAAOM/FrKVhxlRios/s640/DSC_5765.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></div>Stacy Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03574522569270587882noreply@blogger.com0