I woke this morning and considered how all the conditions of my mostly contented life have been dependent on tens of thousands of beings, human and otherwise. I’m grateful that this reflection has become habitual. I intended to focus on my blessings and sift attention away from my sufferings. But one negative thought led to another and I was soon swept onto a bad train and carried far from my intention.
Baking molasses cookies and then exercising for an hour with Mel both helped derail the glum train, and then a long meditation reset my perspective back on the right track. Just in time for zoom cooking with Amy.
It was so good to see her, it’s been a while. We started Tomato Night with a spontaneous tomato martini. We smashed a couple of cherry tomatoes into the shaker with a splash of balsamic vinegar, a pinch of salt, and the regular gin and vermouth, with another cherry tomato for garnish.
While eight ounces of cherry tomatoes roasted with olive oil and salt (for tomato butter), we mixed pesto with cream cheese and cut puff pastry to bake upside down tarts. Sliced tomatoes lay on parchment paper drizzled with olive oil and balsamic awaiting their pastry tops.
A quick egg wash, and into the oven for twenty minutes. While they baked we pulsed the roasted cherry tomatoes with salt and pepper, and mashed them with softened butter.
The tarts came out perfect, and we flipped them over to serve.
I toasted a slice of sourdough to dip in the butter, Amy had ciabatta. We sat down together miles apart for dinner. I’m grateful for the anchor of awareness flowing through the day, for the ability to consciously choose where I place my attention.
What a marvelous sight greeted me at the bottom of the stairs this morning! Topaz was watching a baby bull snake lying still on the floor. I only saw it when I took a step and it wiggled away. I fended off Wren and picked it up gently. It was so gentle and calm, and curled and crawled around my hand as I considered the best place to release it, but it never panicked or thrashed.
After I released it into the wood pile, where I hope it finds enough mice to remain there forever and live long and grow big, I came back inside and tried to put her collar on Topaz as she knelt at her food bowl, the way I often do. I reached around her neck with the bell and she jerked and flipped around wide-eyed. I tried again now that she knew it was just me, but she wrenched away; after I washed my hands she accepted the collar willingly as usual. I’m grateful for the little dose of wonder that started my day.
One reason I practice gratitude is because of my innate pessimism. Well, I can’t say innate in the sense that I was born with it, I’m not sure I was. But it came to me early through a series of prophetic dreams that started while I was still in single digits. So this article about likely societal collapse didn’t shock me as it might some of you, should you choose to read it. History shows that increasing wealth inequality consistently precedes collapse, contends economist and international relations expert Dr. Luke Kemp in his new book Goliath’s Curse, which analyzes 5000 years of human civilizations’ collapses.
“…as elites extract more wealth from the people and the land, they make societies more fragile, leading to infighting, corruption, immiseration of the masses, less healthy people, overexpansion, environmental degradation and poor decision making by a small oligarchy. The hollowed-out shell of a society is eventually cracked asunder by shocks such as disease, war or climate change.”
Last night was Zoom Cooking with Amy. We chose a simple pasta sauce made from sautéed zucchini, which we blended with some garlic, parmesan, salt&pepper of course, and a little pasta water. We spooned that into our bowls, topped with pasta and more parm, and I sautéed a handful of frozen snow peas from the spring garden in the hot zucchini pan.
Sound familiar? Kemp lays the imminent demise of our so-called civilization at the feet of “leaders who are ‘walking versions of the dark triad’ – narcissism, psychopathy and Machiavellianism”; and while he says that a fundamental transformation of society on a global scale could save our species, “the large, psychopathic corporations and [world leaders] which produce global catastrophic risk” make self-destruction more likely.
This reflects, to one degree or another, my fundamental world view since I was a child. It’s less popular and less acceptable than believing in aliens, so I don’t articulate it often. It’s something of a relief to read it so clearly outlined by a scholar of human cultural history.
Kemp suggests that “even if you don’t have hope, it doesn’t really matter. This is about defiance. It’s about doing the right thing, fighting for democracy and for people to not be exploited. And even if we fail, at the very least, we didn’t contribute to the problem.”
Hope is a conundrum for me. It can mean a passive wish for good things, but I prefer the interpretation of Joanna Macy, who died last month at 94, that hope is a verb, that how we live matters, and that this time in history is one of great unraveling and also of the potential for a Great Turning.
My life’s trajectory continues to lean into celebrating this fragile, spinning globe and all the Life that supports our tiny existence. It’s really a question of perspective, of world view: Domination or collaboration? Each of us chooses how to live, every living moment of every day.
Though it’s taking a lot longer than from tadpole to frog, I’m grateful for my own metamorphosis through the years. And grateful to photograph a fully formed froglet flying through the water—next challenge: film it.
Beautiful evening light this week leading up to Summer Solstice has been enhanced, sadly, by smoke from some distant fires.
These hot days I caught a craving for popsicles, and was grateful to have a six-mold in the pantry; grateful also to have plenty of rhubarb from next door. I cooked a bunch down with sugar to make a simple compote I could freeze and use as needed, and needed some right away. I blended it with fresh strawberries and the juice of half a lemon, froze the pops overnight, and enjoyed one down by the pond the next morning. So refreshing! So simple, so delicious!
The first rhubarb treat I made a couple weeks ago was an upside down cake, which was also pretty simple and delicious. I saved a few stalks from the compote pot to bake one more of these this week.
Meanwhile, down at the pond, the Palmer’s penstemon are blooming, and Tadpole Pedicure training’s been going great!
Wren found a second garter snake, bigger than the first one, in the curly rush yesterday morning. And the first cherries have ripened on the new little tree.
I’m curious how the gazillion cherry blossoms matured into just a handful of cherries, and will be interested to see what happens next year. Maybe it was insufficient water at a crucial stage, or some other horticultural error, maybe birds were picking them off all along, or maybe it’s just the growth habit of a young sapling to thin its fruit. I shouldn’t be surprised: the apricot and peach trees both drop a lot of early fruit.
Today was so hot, and so windy, I had to stay inside from mid-morning until evening. Red flag warning all day and for the next couple, and a faint persistent haze on the horizon. ‘Fire’ shouldn’t be a season, but it is. I took the opportunity make waffles I’ve been dreaming about for weeks, a whole batch to freeze for quick toaster reheating, and three for brunch.
This Dash mini waffle iron is a delight to use, heats fast as soon as it’s plugged in, cooks a waffle in just a couple of minutes, and the light pops off when the waffle is done.
I fried some thin-sliced pancetta for a little protein to go with the extravagance of waffles topped with Greek yogurt, rhubarb compote, fresh strawberries, and maple syrup.
It seemed brunch was no sooner finished than it was time for Zoom Cooking with Amy. We made potato-onion crisps that didn’t turn out quite as crispy as I’d hoped, but were still tasty.
Thinly sliced potatoes and onions layered with grated provolone and parmesan cooked at 375F for twenty-five minutes. I tossed some pancetta on top of a few just for fun. They were very tasty, but a lot of effort for the end result.
The leftovers will be fun to play around with, though. I hope they’ll crisp a bit more with reheating. I imagine topping one with a fried egg for tomorrow’s breakfast, and they could make a base for huevos rancheros, or top a hamburger, or serve as a crouton atop a soup or salad. I think if I ever make these again I’ll use a lot less cheese. That might deliver better crunch.
No Buy New Year got off to a rough start: I spent $500 at the vet yesterday. But that’s ok, veterinary and human health care is exempt, and so are absolute necessities. The goal of No Buy New Year is not deprivation, but it is a type of renunciation.
Now that I have this fine, manual bread (and other foods) slicer (bought in December), I can finally be happy!
Like many Americans, I have more stuff than I need. I’m getting older, death is certain, time of death uncertain, and I’ve been trying to pare nonessentials from all facets of my life for years with limited success. Why is it so hard to winnow things? Because our American culture (now, tragically exported to most of the world) insists that we need more things, and that having more things will make us happier.
Beautiful uniform slices without the effort or the danger of a dulling bread knife.
I know for certain that this is not true, after five years of dedicated mindfulness practice. If you want to know how you can also know this for certain, you’ll need to take the Mindfulness Foundations Course I teach online. It is so much more than can be summarized in a few paragraphs: but trust me, getting and having more things will not make you happier. Some things have uses, some carry important meaning, and many are not “just things”; but some of the things I have I don’t even remember where they are, and when I run across one I may not even be able to recall why I bought it.
This happened awhile ago with a kitchen tool. I couldn’t figure out what it was for, so I passed it on to another kitcheny friend, assuming she’d make some use of it. Only when I bought a new iteration of a corn cutter did I realize that was the purpose of the tool I had given away. I don’t cut that much corn off the cob, but on the rare occasions I do, I prefer to have the right tool for the job. This new one looks like it will be easier to use, but maybe I should label it anyway, summer corn is a long way off.
Listening to this marvelous podcast with Noelle Oxenhandler on the drive home from the vet added yet another layer of meaning to No Buy New Year. Partly, I just want a more streamlined space to dwell in, but I also want less to clean, less to care for, less to care about. So I’m trying to thin my things, and at the same time let go of attachments. Noelle’s interview gives some insight into the cultural conundrum of continually buying more things while at the same time contending with clutter. You don’t have to believe that everything is Buddha, but her discussion around the true nature of things might help me let go of more of them.
I will, of course, still be buying flour.
Here are my No Buy New Year Rules:
1. Keep a box for things to take to the thrift store, and put something in it every day: clothing, kitchen tools, pantry items I’ll never eat or use, knickknacks frippery and ornaments I can bring myself to part with, anything I can let go of.
2. Letting go also includes cleaning out the three spice locations (turntable, rack, and drawer) and composting everything I haven’t used in two years; same rule applies to the pantry. I’ll check the freezer first before I make a grocery list, and buy groceries only twice a month, making sure to use up or compost as much as possible before buying more groceries.
Tonight’s zoom cooking with Amy is a great example of this strategy: instead of buying new onions or tomatoes, I dug through the freezer to find a bag of frozen roasted homegrown tomatoes and some of last year’s onions, and some pesto. We threw together a simple and delicious puréed tomato soup with white beans.
There was also puff pastry in the freezer, cheese in the fridge, and spices on the shelf. We each created our own version of a pull-apart flower. Mine was filled with pesto, cheddar, and Parmesan cheese, and brushed with egg white which I had in the fridge leftover from a custard I made the other day.
A simple supper with ingredients on hand that will provide several more meals.
3. No new clothes. I have enough clothes. I buy more because I covet a certain color or texture of sweater or pants, or style of shirt. I have enough clothes, enough hats, jackets, coats, gloves. Other people don’t. I have too many clothes. Unless an essential clothing item becomes unwearable from age I won’t replace it; and no succumbing to tactile temptations.
4. No new tools. I have enough tools. Any kitchen, household, or garden tool I ever imagined a use for, I have already. If a new use arises, I will make do with an inventive application of tools I already own.
Full disclosure, I did prepare in advance for No Buy New Year. I bought a couple of high-value items after the election. I don’t think the president-elect will be able to enact all his nefarious plans that will bolster the billionaires and create suffering for the rest of us, but I do think he’ll succeed with some of them. I certainly don’t expect the price of imports (or groceries, or gas, or taxes, or anything else) to go down in the coming year, and I personally prefer not to support whatever economic agenda comes out of the incoming regime.
I think that about covers it. At the moment, I can’t think of anything else I’d be liable to buy this year — oh wait! Plants! Seeds! But I firmly believe that I either have all the seeds and stock of plants to propagate any more plants I could desire or need, or I’ll be able to trade for them. So, I’m ready for No Buy New Year. Wish me luck!
A laugh for the day: the doe is fascinated by Wren pooping. Wren is wearing the donut of comfort to help her recover from an infected scratch.
Nothing happened outside today. Nothing. It was simply grey all day with a light breeze. But then this evening, right about the time I met Amy on Zoom, the wind kicked up. There was a brief spell where the sun came out and it blew about 30 mph for an hour, and that was the extent of the windstorm here. I wonder what it did elsewhere. Just in the past hour it’s started to rain.
Since we were cooking on Cinco de Mayo we decided to celebrate our Mexican friends; though we chose an unconventional enchilada, substituting a cauliflower-feta mixture for meat.
The sauce involved onion, garlic, oregano, and tomatoes, so I simplified by opening a jar of organic marinara and supplementing garlic and oregano. It also called for five dried Ancho chiles, but I only had Guajillo. Amy looked up heat comparison: 500-1000 SHU for Ancho, 2500-5000 for Guajillo (you can compare your chiles here). I used just one for equivalent heat, but it wasn’t enough so I added two more, which topped my pepper tolerance; next time, just two Guajillos.
Extra sour cream to cut the heat, and vanilla ice cream for dessert.
All it all it was a restful day and a fine evening. I’m grateful for exercising with my cousin over the phone, having a kitchen to clean in order to make another fun mess in it, for food in the house, for hot running water, for the first Broadtail Hummingbird of the season, for rain from the heavens, and for a reprieve from the planetary winds. I’m always grateful for Zoom Cooking with Amy: for our easy rapport and our fifty-two year friendship, for our shared history and things we talk about and things we don’t need to say, for someone who’s known and loved me since I was twelve.
Tonight we decided I need to survey my readers. When my brother and I were little, our mother tucked us in with a prayer. Most of you know how it begins: “Now I lay me down to sleep/I pray the Lord my soul to keep…” It goes on, “If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” My dear mother thought that was grim/scary/horrible, and so she changed the last two lines. I was grateful to speak with my brother this past week, and finally remembered to ask him if he remembered, and he laughed at the thought that he might. I was grateful to hear his laugh. Amy only said the first two lines as a child. I guess her mother thought the same as mine about the last two. We both remember that afterward we “god blessed” a list of names. And while we were talking about it, the third line came to me. I’m pretty sure mom said, “And in the morning when I wake…”
But I cannot yet recall the final line! So the survey is, what do you think it was? Please offer your suggestions in the comments. Sweet dreams.
This week we baked focaccia to go with what Amy predicted would be ‘sad beans.’ She was wrong. They were very happy beans. But I’m grateful she suggested the focaccia, which I’ve only made a few times and none as successfully as tonight’s simple, delicious recipe for a small loaf pan focaccia. I didn’t even make any adjustments for altitude and it came out beautifully. I topped mine with flaky sea salt and Penzeys Bouquet Garni spice mix. I really miss having a rosemary plant in the sunroom, and regret that the one I’d had in a pot for many years didn’t survive a repotting last fall. But the Bouquet Garni mix was a good substitute for fresh rosemary.
Amy also suggested a delicious ‘dirty martini dip’ she found on instagram, which is just cream cheese, sour cream, an ounce of gin or vodka, and an ounce of olive brine zapped in a food processor with a pinch of salt, then served with olive oil and olives. I skipped the olive oil, substituted greek yogurt and mayo for sour cream I didn’t have, and tossed one olive in the mix as well. Next time all the olives go in the food processor. We are both grateful for olives. Amy ate her dip with pretzels and crackers and saved her focaccia for the White Beans au Vin that I had proposed for dinner, but I enjoyed the dip with my bread.
I don’t think we intended to put alcohol in both our dishes but I just realized that we did. I’m grateful for tomato paste in a tube, which lasts a long while in the fridge and doesn’t get yucky like that in a can when you try to save it, even in another jar. I’m grateful for all manner of kitchen and culinary conveniences, and grateful that I have a kitchen in a warm house during this cold winter.
I led an interactive guided meditation today in a study group. The meditation, from one of our instructors, called on me to lead the ‘client’ in an exploration of feelings of amazement and gratitude for the most basic things, including how our body breathes and pumps blood and mostly does everything right most of the time without any effort on our part. But when I reached the part where I encouraged the client to bring to mind the things in their life that provide security, the kinds of things I write about here day after day, like a safe home, sufficient food, and clean water, they balked.
Their big heart immediately skipped over gratitude for the comforts of their life, to a desire to help the many who lack these basic amenities. It can be a fine line. I struggled with this myself for many years, and still do sometimes. It’s not fair that I have so much and others have so little. But gratitude is not antithetical to compassion and may indeed be a necessary precursor to it. We need to give ourselves permission to experience gratitude without guilt: for the small things in our lives, like tomato paste in a tube, and the big things like lasting friendships, meaningful work, and our capacity to help others as we’re able. The bottom line is that it’s not only healthy but essential to acknowledge and give thanks for all the good in our lives.
Both recent research in neuroscience and the longtime teachings of Br. David Steindl-Rast reveal the importance of gratitude. Brother David is passionate and eloquent on the transcendent meaning within gratitude. It’s a spiritual practice for him, and he’s been studying and teaching its importance for many of his 97 joyful years on earth. I’m grateful for his influence on me through the years, and that I am finally beginning to live his message. Let me remember to be grateful every living moment of every day.
“There is a wave of gratefulness because people are becoming aware how important this is and how this can change our world. It can change our world in immensely important ways, because if you’re grateful, you’re not fearful, and if you’re not fearful, you’re not violent. If you’re grateful, you act out of a sense of enough and not of a sense of scarcity, and you are willing to share. If you are grateful, you are enjoying the differences between people, and you are respectful to everybody, and that changes this power pyramid under which we live.” ― David Steindl-Rast
I’m as grateful for a sunny day as for a cloudy day. I’m grateful for any day I wake up alive, especially if I get to enjoy it without much pain, as I did today. I’m grateful for a zoom meeting with graduates of the Mindfulness Foundations Course I teach, where we meditated together and then talked about what challenges and successes we’ve had recently in our practice of living with more awareness, a more open heart, and a healthier perspective on our lives; in short, each of us expressing gratitude for how the practice of mindfulness has helped us experience less mental and emotional suffering, and even made physical pain more bearable. Next course starts January 5, enroll now or tell a friend!
I’m grateful as always for Zoom Cooking with Amy. Tonight we made an extremely simple onion tart she found on Instagram. Roll and cut the puff pastry into six rectangles poke it all over with a fork. Slice a red onion in quarter-inch slices, and place them on a parchment sprayed with cooking oil. Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and cover with the docked puff pastry. Bake at 375℉ for 20 minutes.
When they’re golden, flip with a spatula onto a serving dish, add thinly sliced Cambozola (I used Gorgonzola because it’s what I had, Amy used Brie), and as it melts onto the hot tart, drizzle with hot honey. Hot both ways: microwave the honey for 15-20 seconds to loosen it, then add pepper. I made the recipe with a quarter cup honey and half a teaspoon of Aleppo pepper. Next time I’ll add more heat. I’m grateful for another day well lived.
Another sunny day! Another lunch outside, and more hours to winterize the yarden, draining more hoses, storing plant pots, tidying garden tools. Each ‘last sunny day’ a respite before the strongly predicted storm due to arrive now in about three hours. We’ll know more later!
The aspen has lost all her leaves, but the crabapple still clings to color. I’m grateful for the small display of deciduous trees in the yard, and sometimes wish I’d planted more. I was limited by how much water I had for them, but now that they are all established maybe I can add another one… or two… in spring. A sour cherry, and a red maple, those are my dream trees.
I’m grateful for another delicious zoom cooking with Amy. I can no longer recall which of us spotted this recipe on Instagram, but Amy tracked it down so we could read it easily and then alerted me this afternoon that the salmon had to marinate for at least an hour and the rice had to be completely cooled. I got those things done just in time to get online with her for assembly and cooking, and then we sat down to enjoy our meal.
Nori squares, sushi rice, and salmon marinated in soy sauce, honey, hot sauce, ginger and some other yummies, all tucked into muffin cups and baked hot for fifteen minutes; then glazed with another delicious concoction and served hot and crispy, sweet and sour and salty, crunchy and sticky and soft. I will definitely be making these again!
Shortly after we toasted our salmon ‘muffins,’ she got a call from a friend who needed an urgent ride to the emergency vet for a badly injured dog. Amy is just the kind of friend you need in a situation like that. She didn’t bat an eye. She explained, and I said “Bye!” and ended the zoom. I’m grateful for that kind of friend whether mine or someone else’s; we all need them. And I’m grateful that you’re the kind of friend who is now worried about a dog you’ve never met, so I’m glad to tell you that though it was ghastly it was only a flesh wound, and Boone is going to be fine with some stitches and a night or two in the hospital.
Even before coffee I picked three more baskets of apricots in the cool morning air, using the step stool to reach some of the higher, riper fruits. Up at the very top the birds have left only pits on stems. Topaz has added my coffee and kindle time to her morning routine, settling in for a cuddle as I read for the past few days. I’m grateful she’s becoming more affectionate in her middle age.
I was chasing this western tiger swallowtail butterfly all around the pot when little Wren strode through. Getting a shot like this makes me ridiculously happy. If this were the only image I had to show for today I’d be very grateful.
But then I got this one and was doubly delighted.
Potato gnocchi stuffed with mushroom-cheese filling…
I’m grateful tonight for so many things, including Zoom Cooking with Amy: Gnocchi Ripieni edition. We both started yesterday, making the dough and filling ahead of time. I only got as far yesterday as baking the potatoes, which I scraped from the skins and refrigerated, then grated cheddar on and baked the skins for a snack with Penzeys Chip & Dip seasoned sour cream. What a great instant dip! So simple, so delicious!
This morning I mashed the cold potatoes and added flour, salt, an egg, and a few dashes of fresh nutmeg to make the dough. I also sautéed the mushrooms, and after they cooled blitzed them with the cheeses to make the filling.
Remember, don’t crowd the mushrooms! I just learned this wisdom recently and since then have added mushrooms to the skillet a few handfuls at a time, waiting til each batch cooks down a bit before adding the next.
Once we had our zoom drinks made, we quartered the chilled dough, and rolled each quarter, then chopped it into 15 gram rounds. A half teaspoon of filling in each, then pinched them closed and set on a tray to chill in the fridge for fifteen minutes, as we continued chatting while shaping and filling the rest of the dough.
When the second tray was filled, we swapped out trays and cooked the chilled ones in batches in boiling water until they floated. (Later I put the second tray in the freezer, and will bag the gnocchis tomorrow, to pull out and cook for next Boyz Lunch.)
As my second batch boiled I drained the first batch and kept them warm over the gnocchi water. Then we sautéed them in butter and olive oil, and at the end I added a couple tablespoons of the hot starchy water to the skillet and swirled to make a silky sauce. The recipe calls for “a pinch of parmesan.” Whoever heard of a pinch of parmesan? I grated a generous amount and topped the bowl, then we sat down to dine together.
I’m grateful for every chance I get to cook with my precious friend.
I’m grateful for zoom cooking with Amy. Last night we concocted ‘the ultimate Paloma,’ with grapefruit soda, grapefruit juice, lime juice, and tequila, and garnished a portion of the rim with Hawaiian black lava salt rolled onto a thin film of honey. The black salt was the fruit of an investigation we pursued last week. I’m grateful for the opportunity to get luxuries at the touch of a button, and for the sense of humor and non-attachment when they don’t turn out quite as we might have expected.
It’s a little embarrassing for me to admit how dependent I’ve become on the internet. It’s been off and on here for two days, and Rise Broadband reports that they know there’s a problem and expect it will be resolved by Monday at six pm. Another two days! Oh well. First world problems. I’m grateful for the internet and for how it allows me to connect with you, with the drag queens of the world, weather forecasts, and so much more, including the platforms I’m using these days for work. If I have to spend some hours without it now and then I suppose I have enough to keep me occupied!
I admit it would be easier to go without internet if it weren’t deep winter. In summer, I could at least bundle up and sit outside under the stars if I can’t watch Drag Race or Modern Family. It’s just too cold now. Lows overnight in the single to minus digits, and highs during the day often not breaking freezing. So even during the day, if I can’t work online, I can’t spend much time outside. The tiny dog loves the snow but too much time in it gives her a reverse-sneeze seizure and she runs to me to pick her up, then shivers mightily until I bring her inside. A sweater isn’t much help in the teens, or in snow deeper than herself, and booties are out of the question. I’m grateful I have a little treadmill inside where I can walk up my heart rate and exercise my lungs.
I’m grateful for the moisture the snow is bringing to our ground and to the mountains where we keep our water until we need it in summer. I’m grateful for the mild does who hang out during the day. Grateful for my solid little house, and for the garden in winter.
Sometimes I’m even grateful for the ‘memories’ that pop up in Photos unbidden. When I opened the program this evening this image from 2018 showed up, with Stellar and Raven on a trail up above Lost Lake that autumn. I love how the yellow aspen leaves ornament the deep evergreen boughs and the path, the bright white of the aspen trunks, and the cherished images of my dear departed catahoulas. I imagine that trail is under six or eight feet of snow at the moment. I’m grateful for perspective.
