Tag Archive | practice

If You Bake It They Will Come

Oct27

Working on perfecting the blueberry cinnamon roll. A batch last week from a new recipe didn’t satisfy me though the people I shared it with weren’t so particular. The dough was a little tough and there wasn’t enough filling. The batch I made yesterday had too much filling, but I’m closing in on perfection.

A new tiny friend made a surprise visit Saturday and was entranced with Biko, the first turtle she’s ever met in her whole life. When she was ready, she touched him ever so gently on the top of his shell. Then we took her to the pond, where she spotted her first ever frog. There is still at least one tadpole swimming around, and a few growing juveniles out even after a freeze the night before, and one brand new fingertip froglet on land. I sent them home with the last two rolls of Batch Number One.

I delivered a couple of rolls from Batch Number Two to the Honey Badger at the top of the driveway last night, so we could enjoy one with coffee this morning separately in our own homes together on Zoom. I was planning to deliver most of the rest to a few more neighbors today, but they disappeared before I could do that.

I’m a night owl and don’t see too many sunrises, so I was grateful for the extra motivation to rise in time to catch the morning clouds with the sun just behind Mendicant Ridge. I wish I could want to get out of bed while it’s still dark.

Yarden Helper came unexpectedly with a load of firewood, so I gave him three rolls to take home for his family, knowing that would brighten their day. Remembering the unattributable quote, “Be kind. Everyone you meet is carrying a heavy burden,” or another version, “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”

He was heading next to Garden Buddy’s so I gave him two for them, and suddenly, without ever having to leave the driveway, I was down to just enough to sustain me until I muster the motivation to tackle Batch Number Three. I’m grateful for the practice of generosity, a natural accompaniment to the gratitude and grief slow dancing inside me.

I can’t share the recipe for the rolls because I used three of them plus a couple of innovations. But most of the recipes I checked involved brushing the rolled dough with softened butter.

I wasn’t happy with the one cup of whole blueberries in Batch One, so I made a quick jam with two cups, but cooked it down too much, so threw in another handful of blueberries. It might have been ok if I’d only used half of it, or if I hadn’t put lemon zest in it as well as lemon juice.

The brown sugar – cinnamon mix was adequate, but I’ve been including some cardamom and the next batch will have only cinnamon.

Clearly it was too much filling!

And I’ll need to practice my glazing technique before I enter any contests, but at least it’s tasty. And I’m grateful I was still around for sunset.

Practice Makes Perfect

Feb13
Look, Ma! No Cheese! I’ve been approaching Dairy Overload this past week, so was grateful to have a bunch of goodies to make a delicious salad for lunch, even without cheese. And the dressing was mostly walnut oil and vinegar, I just made it in an ’empty’ mayonnaise jar to use up the last tablespoon I couldn’t scrape out.

I made apple cider cinnamon rolls again, this time determined to do everything exactly according to the recipe. I started the dough Sunday night, left it in the mudroom overnight, and was delighted to see it so beautifully risen in the morning. I remembered to bring it inside as soon as I got up, and set the bowl across from the fire to help it come to room temperature more quickly. It rolled easier this time, and I brushed the melted butter on the dough as prescribed instead of mixing it with the filling.

It made a perfect log that turned out just about the diameter of the rolling pin. I sliced that in half, then quarters, and each quarter into thirds…
…making twelve nearly perfectly even rings.
These rose for an hour until doubled, more or less…

And this time they baked perfectly all the way through. Then I made the glaze exactly according to directions, cooking one-half cup apple cider with a pinch of salt down to exactly a quarter cup, and mixing in cream cheese and butter. It turned out perfectly. And once the rolls had cooled for five minutes, I spread a very thin layer of glaze over, and let them cool an additional twenty minutes before spreading the rest of the glaze. I’m not sure why this extra step, but I’m not going to argue with it: I can imagine some magical alchemy of the thin layer melting into the hot rolls and creating a protective film or something.

The looked absolutely perfect. I could hardly wait for them to cool enough to try one. And when I did, it tasted like something was missing. It was delicious, but there was just a little something something not quite right… a few hours later it hit me: I forgot the nutmeg! The filling mix, mostly brown sugar, also calls for cinnamon, ground ginger, nutmeg, and a pinch of ground cloves. I had lined up the spices from the baking drawer, but forgot to set out the nutmeg grinder from the countertop turntable. I’ve never been a huge nutmeg fan, but I can see that even a quarter teaspoon can add that extra little pop in a cinnamon roll. Oh well! Practice makes perfect.

Why I Didn’t Report That Rape

Sep28

IMG_3205

… a spoonful of sugar… 

It was the only one that happened to me, let’s get that out of the way. Was it violent? Sure, in a way; no knife or imminent gun, just brute force, and my willingness to submit without escalating the violence. There were plenty of guns in the house, though, and a temper that took them out on rabbits in the desert: the guns and the temper, he took them both out together, and with them took out some rabbits. Taught his little four-year-old how to do that, too, so I often wonder what kind of man that poor kid grew into. Maybe as macho a one as his dad, who, though, still retained a soft spot for his college (occasional, accidental) lover, another macho athletic man. But that kind of hypocrisy is another issue. (Or is it?)

I was raped in my ex-boyfriend’s bed within minutes of making it clear that I was breaking up with him. So why didn’t I report it? Well, I could just hear the arguments, because they were and still are pervasive in our culture. They’re already in our heads. (If you aren’t aware that you’re hearing these patriarchal voices in your head, you’re in even more trouble.) So that while I knew this was rape, I also believed that no one else would think it was ‘a serious rape.’ And we lived in a small, intense community in a rural outpost. I wasn’t willing to fight about it, it was best for me to just lie there and survive, then walk away.

In that case, the argument would have been similar to a wife claiming rape, maybe more insidious, and it was this: You went over to his house. You’ve already fucked him a hundred times, you can’t claim rape. Something like that. “It wasn’t really rape,” or “It wasn’t really rape.” The idea that if she’s already your woman, it isn’t rape. I say maybe more insidious than the argument against a wife’s claim, because an entrenched idea of ‘ownership’ remains a sad condition of marriage; with a girlfriend, the idea that no doesn’t mean no expresses an even deeper level of gender-based ownership, i.e., men rule women.

We saw this gender-based entitlement on vivid display in the second half of yesterday’s hearings. I personally could not watch, the heartrending snippets I heard in the morning having sent me into flight mode. But I listened and watched some evening news coverage, and saw the tempers explode and the spittle fly, and the ‘snarls of hatred and contempt,’ from Kavanaugh, Graham, and other angry white men. Somewhere in here is where the hypocrisy issue lies, claws nestled in those dark hearts. Are these really the people you want making the decisions that will affect your children’s, and your grandchildren’s, lives?

Women, if you live with a bully for a husband, or boyfriend, or father, you are living with abuse; if the man or men in your life belittle, degrade, threaten, slap or beat you, you need to see it for what it is. You don’t deserve it. You may not be able to argue or stand up to your abuser right now, but you can step into the privacy of your secret ballot this November, and every election, and say NO to the prevailing culture that now sanctions this abuse of a nation.

And now for some gratuitous beauty:

IMG_3232

Life goes on, turn, turn, turn….

IMG_3140

It helps to make time to appreciate beauty and the company of friends.

IMG_3182

It helps to walk with dogs.

IMG_3170

It helps to allow both joy and sorrow, love and rage, faith and uncertainty, in your heart at the same time; to practice equanimity… with ferocity, when necessary. 

DTIV6907

Living fire in the back yard, and in the ‘extended’ back yard.

IMG_3238