Absence results in avalanche

I promised myself to post today to not let it go longer than a week since my last post.  And I do hope it won't be as long till my next one.

I was going to pick one photo to save time (which I only wanted to do in order to facilitate the actual happening of writing a post), but looking at my photo stream made me warm and fuzzy and I could not pick just one.

I am delighted by an unexpected turn of events.  This Fall has been defined by a surge in cooking and baking as I have mused about it here in this space.  The development in the last week or so is that I have made some food which has made me go "hmm".  And I find myself very curious and wanting to learn more about the science behind the alchemy of cooking.

I have requested Ratio and Gluten-Free Girl Every Day from the library.  Both authors are proponents of using ratios to develop recipes and deepen one's understanding of how recipes work.  I cannot imagine I will ever be creating my own recipes...but am kind of thrilled to be exploring cooking and baking in a new way.  Maybe I do like it, after all.

And now, the pics...

local intersection.  I had just stepped out of Anthropologie, a store I go into maybe once a year.  I like it every time, but then forget about it until someone or something reminds me and I go in again.

sweet rice flour!  we've started using it, but I have not batched "my" all-purpose flour mix yet.  (I need a snazzy name for it.)

Chinese lump candy (aka rock candy).  the kids, particularly Gem, have been loving it.  some less processed sweet for the stomach system.

pumpkin chocolate chunk bars.  the first of three items I baked in the last week that came out vastly differently than I thought it would.  it tasted good, but the texture was very wet.  it was like a pumpkin pie without the crust.  the recipe poster's photo shows a much cake-ier looking bar so I was disappointed...and wondered what went awry.

we returned upstate for pumpkins.  the kids enjoyed our trip to Gill's Farm last year so we made a day of it with auntie and uncle.

boys on rock in woods.

beautiful birches.

more often than not, lately, all I want for breakfast is a piece of toast with Kerrygold and a big ass mug of black tea (English or Irish Breakfast) with honey.  must be the bits of stardust in me that hail from the British Isles rallying for some recognition.

pumpkin bacon scallion biscuits.  the greatest of expectations dashed upon a cruel and rocky shore.  these were a shocking bust.  and I am fairly certain it was me...and that I can tweak my performance to turn out a better product.  these were soft on the inside, bordering on mushy.  the outside was crusty...but I was seeking a flakey experience throughout.

I made something a couple of weeks ago, it was the oatmeal raisin cookies, and I questioned the use/quality of nutmeg (an ingredient I normally dig, especially in savory dishes).  well, I finally checked the date on the jar and, oops, it was way past expiration.  at the market, they were out of "regular" nutmeg so I decided to get a jar of whole ones.  I enjoyed the "return to a simpler time" aspect of grating the nutmeg...and, not surprisingly, the wonderful aromatherapy.

apple cider donut hole.  making these was a mixed bag.  I guess you could say the hype (in my head and heart) could not quite be lived up to.  the logistical pain of frying donuts for the first time will never be as challenging as it was yesterday and so I can envision myself making these again and having the total experience be a happier one.  the donut "holes" themselves were really good.  I mean, a warm and crispy fried dough ball?  what's not to like?  these were light and pleasing.  they were not cooked well through, though.  next time they need to be smaller.  and I need a working candy thermometer for next time.  I really had no idea what temperature the oil was.  and speaking of oil...Cap is our resident fryer and being a kinesthetic learner, I had to experience frying to understand the ins and outs of how/how much dang oil is used to deep fry.  it's a frakking lot.  and...honestly, it felt like a waste.  so, next time, I guess I'll make more donuts.  but it would have to be for a crowd because, really, they are best still warm from frying.  see?  my complicated mixed feelings.  also disappointing: Cap didn't want one (he wasn't feeling well) and the boys did not like them.  I am usually not invested in the rest of the family loving, or even liking, what I make, but this one made my heart twinge a bit.

pumpkin tea cake with cream cheese frosting.  sometimes, I will change what I call something to reflect a shift in ingredients.  for example, the pumpkin bacon scallion biscuits were called pumpkin bacon chive biscuits in the original recipe.  but, this one, I could not call these pumpkin bars, not with this frosting, which elevated/transformed the final product to more of a cake.  I am now using coconut crystals or honey or maple syrup as substitutes for cane sugar when I bake.  but, for this frosting, I decided to use the powdered sugar called for because the thought of a brown cream cheese frosting made me sad.  this came out wonderfully.  the cake was dense and it had a rustic, hearty quality that paired nicely with the sweet, sticky frosting (which was way too sweet for me...and raised the burning question: how much can you decrease the sugar in a frosting without negatively impacting the texture of it?)  I froze half the cake and plan on serving it at a brunch this weekend.  I am going to make a non-dairy frosting for it using vegan cream cheese and will use less sugar.  I may make a tiny test batch using coconut crystals to see how unsightly the resulting brown is.

celery root, sweet potato and red onion.  I adapted this Martha Stewart recipe to use up the celery root from last week's CSA share.  I thought the apple, even a tart one, would make it sweeter than I wanted...but the celery root had more of a kick to it than I expected and next time, I will put the apple in.  this was pure CSA goodness.  we are very much entering root vegetable season here and I will be making variations of this kind of peel, cube, par boil and skillet fry for weeks and weeks to come.  Martha Stewart's website is becoming a reliable source of recipes for me.  (another thing that makes me go hmm.)

we are in the midst of a delicious and bountiful apple season.  the simple pleasures of gazing upon Mother Earth's color spectrum, inhaling the delicate and unadorned scents and biting into juicy, crunchy, sweet, flavorful apples has been incredibly happy-making.

I have also been amassing tabs in my Google Chrome...of things I wanted to share here...

• homemade mosquito spray.

• coconut white chocolate recipe.  I have ordered the cocoa butter and am stoked to make this!

• apple honey "lemonade" recipe.  "aid digestion and boost immunity"?  yes, please.

• daily rituals of creative minds.  this reinforced things I already strive for and think highly of.

• 8 fascinating facts about anxiety.  5,6 and 8 were the ones that surprised me (both because I recognized myself in them and I never made a connection to these experiences and anxiety).

• re-Sendakify Sendak.  thanks to Lana for this one.  a must for fans of kid lit.

• a lovely poem.

• making lemonade out of lemons.  if by lemonade we mean gorgeous and haunting black and white photos...and by lemons we mean a frightening and destabilizing medical experience.  this one is from Lana's photo blog.

• 15 Peruvian foods you have to try.  I don't want to jinx anything by saying we're going to Peru in a few months, but that is the plan.  one of the things making me anxious about this trip is wondering what Gem is going to eat/how to feed him.  I was pleased to see that apart from the desserts on this list, most seemed gluten- and dairy-free.

• another lovely poem.

• GO: A Kid's Guide To Graphic Design.  looks like a cool book.  Kidd's first novel, The Cheese Monkeys, blew me away.  this one is not a novel, it's about graphic design and aimed for humans 10 and up.

• gorgeous and stunning nature photography.

• headspace.  a meditation app I am thinking about trying.

• pumpkin muffins on my to do list.

• pumpkin truffles on my to do list.

• raw almond butter cups on my to do list.

• my latest percolating obsession: stuffing.  of the 25 on this list, I'm going to try the Kitchn one first.  (gluten-free, of course.)

• I am wanting meat less these days and was delighted to see this come across my virtual desk this morning: 37 vegetarian dishes for Thanksgiving.

Phew.  Okay, that was a lot.

Peace, my loves. 

Chuckling

...at the chaos that accompanies seasonal transitions...because what else is there to do?

Last night Gem (who has been dealing with the most internal chaos reflective of the season) was asleep before 10 and woke up at 9.  Sag and I were asleep by 10:30 and woke up between 8 and 8:30.  We all got that message loud and clear.

I think it's going to be another quiet day here waiting out chaos and piling on the rest and nourishment.

I was dead set on making the to-my-taste pizza, so that's what I did.

I was too impatient to roast the veg before using them as toppings, so opted instead to slice the tomato and summer squash very thinly before slapping them on.  The veg, including the garlic scape used to make the pesto, were from our CSA farm.  The ricotta is from Anthony's farm and is made with milk from pastured cows.  Yum.

I have been catching up with 1000+ items in my Reader and have some things to share:

• a mediation app...I am intrigued.

• I have a ton of bananas and am looking for banana recipes.  this one looks promising.

• not only does this egg dish look gorgeous and yummy, all the veg are locally in season right now.

• stoked.  I love special characters!  can't wait to print this out and put it up.

• an amazing poem...exhilarating and excruciating, about rape.

• may make this today.  not sure how buckles have stayed off my radar, but I love them.  I have a lot of frozen, local, organic blueberries to use up.

• gaaah, had no idea what the actual definition of "photogenic" is!  love this project.

• an interesting read about an award winning collection of poetry inspired by the poet grappling with the death of his brother by suicide.

Peace and love.

Sliding into sunday

My eyes are drooping but I wanted to check in before tomorrow's scheduled media-free day.  Here are some pics...

In a fit of...self-care?...self-love?...pushing to get closer to finishing something I started?...inspiration?  I decided to move my personal work/inspirational books to the top shelf.

The fantasy is me curled up reading poetry...some day.

Sweet blooms are studding our hyperlocal landscape.

Went to a community swap today at an elementary school gym in town.  It was sobering to see folks who clearly needed the respite of picking up things they need without having to pay for them.  I felt a little guilty taking anything...but things were pretty picked over by the time I was poking around.  My very interesting find was this this old chopper thingy.  I was completely intrigued having never seen anything like it.

Shifting the old diet back to sugar- grain- and dairy-free on Monday.  Stocked up on animal protein at the farmer's market today and pre-cooked some veg.  Tomorrow I will roast some more veg (sweet potato and rutabaga) and if I have time, brown and grill some meat.  Oh, and hard boil a dozen eggs.

Peace and love.

& then afterward

A poem I found beautiful, lyrical, haunting...and yet hopeful.  You can read it here.

Tired silly after staying up to watch Obama speak.  He is really quite the orator.

Peace.

Sukhanovo

Flipped the pages and picked randomly, an amazing poem from the dense collection, Against Forgetting: Twentieth-Century Poetry of Witness.

Sukhanovo by Natalya Gorbanevskaya

Leafless buoyancy
of bare groves in April,
green moss, transparent
stream, cold horse-tail.

Oblivious buoyancy
like a dream of eroded words,
transparent day, green aspen grove
of a hundred trunks.

Cold bend of the river
and in the far distance
the transparent wind is whistling
in the rosy osier bed.

Here, as in a painting, noon burns yellow,
and the very air, like grief, is disembodied,
and in the utter silence, like a winged army,
the crows in Crow Park hang overhead.

But the mouldering leaves of years past
cling to my elbows, to my hands reeking
of cigarette smoke, and the bare shrubbery thrusts
its arms among my tangled curls.

I have left home so far behind me,
like a plane that in a dense fog wanders
from the aerodrome into the darkness...
Am I living or dead, am I leaves or grass?

Wipe the bliss of half-sleep from your cheeks
and open your eyes wide until the lids ache,
the filth and whiteness of the ward
is like the voluntary flag of your bondage.

The emptiness and narrowness of the ward---
close your eyes tightly until your cheeks ache.
Wipe the smile off your chapped lips,
but swallow the ineffectual scream.

The half-dark, half-light of the ward---
and your neighbor, with closed eyes,
insensibly cursing the white light,
soundlessly dissolves in tears.

In my own twentieth century
where there are more dead than graves
to put them in, my miserable,
forever unshared love

among these Goya images
is nervous, faint, absurd,
as, after the screaming of jets,
the trump of Jericho.

In the bird scream and whistle,
I open the window, open myself.
Before the grand presence passing by
I hide, like a farmyard fowl.

The white flame of light
fades.  The transcendental howl
subsides.  In the empty sky
a magpie wags its tail.

But day clings to the tree shadow
and does not depart;
it moves like a rusted engine,
and the faint echo of its last
sobbing rays hangs over the wood
like a sun in the sky.

Goodbye!---and I am myself amazed
how bright and cold it grows,
how the rain stops drizzling.
Goodbye!---like a little ladleful I spill
into the broad clear river,
into the deep gentle Lethe.

You howl, you weep copiously
on the green grass
and again return to your slavery,
your mind numbed.

You howl, you weep, you swallow
bitter tears,
down steep hill slopes you roll
into the nettles.

And again you return.  How long will you
continue thus?
Your palms tingle all over with the burs.
Sharpen a pencil,

seated at your desk, scrawl a line, scribble it
on your wrist;
spot a blade of grass with
a drop of blood.

Make appointments in December,
when even the lips freeze in the cold,
but how may one descend from poetry to prose
and overcome the craving of the body?

I circle the cold columns,
catarrhal parking lots,
offend the passing traffic of men and cars
and find no place in the world.

It's quicker by the underpass, but
you can't get far from yourself;
sleep, swallow, morsel of transmigration,
like a piece of ice on the rock of asphalt.

Now I am sick, and feverish, and in a sweat.
I ramble on of you in my delirium,
of the long wished for, of the unloved,
of that which is dear to me and which is not.
I fall through into a nether world of oblivion,
where only the body wags its heavy tongue,
while the soul, poor creature,
lies in a dungeon under lock and key.

And there, in the depths, the dark, the gorge,
you loom, like a desert mirage
and my low voice calls out, cries.
...The pillow is hot against my cheek,
the cannon booms toward dense noon,
and deafness fills the throat, a bitter taste the eyes.

translated by Daniel Weissbort

Threeing

A few times a year, our foursome turns into three.  

Cap is in Chicago (at the Red Sox-White Sox game as I type :-) for a few days and then will touch down for dinner with us one night next week before driving up to Massachusetts to help his sister move his mom to Mummu's new place (very exciting, yes).

So, we will be without him for a week.

Initially, there is a quieting that happens.  Each of us resolving, imperceptibly and unconsciously, to being without our fourth.

We had a busy morning seeing Cap off at the airport followed by swimming class followed by the farmer's market.

The afternoon was spent playing (kids) and laundering (me).  In between trips down to the basement I picked up a collection of poetry recently recommended to me and was wowed by some amazing poems.

We just enjoyed The Decemberists' set at The Newport Folk Festival.  NPR will continue its very wonderful live stream tomorrow, too!  And now some baseball before we go off to bed.

Peace and love.

New-to-me cummings

Yum.

[love is more thicker than forget]

love is more thicker than forget

more thinner than recall

more seldom than a wave is wet

more frequent than to fail

it is more mad and moonly

and less it shall unbe

than all the sea which only

is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win

less never than alive

less bigger than the least begin

less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly

and more it cannot die

than all the sky which only

is higher than the sky

 

e.e. cummings

Music to my ears

 Shel Silverstein Appreciation Society.

The kids are enjoying the poetic works of Shel Silverstein.  They have been inspired to read these poems aloud, which is, as they say, music to my ears.

Sag read The Missing Piece while waiting for Gem to be done copying his poem of the day from Where The Sidewalk Ends.  They are both eager to read The Missing Piece Meets The Big O, which I ordered from the local bookshop today (along with Falling Up), to celebrate National Poetry Month.

(It was lovely to hear Sag read aloud the inscription in our copy of The Missing Piece, a commitment ceremony gift to Cap and me from Jamie :-)

Today's awesome

It's early yet and there may be more awesomeness in store for us.  But, for now, I leave here in my adrenalin-has-left-the building puddleness (taxes are done, checks are in the mail)...

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Catching up

Well, that was pretty painless.  The middle, and biggest, stage of the taxes are done.  I'll have Cap give them a look see tonight.  Tomorrow, I will transfer all the rough draft info onto forms in pen, write checks (we always owe because of the consulting type gigs that Cap does), stamp envelopes, and the taxes will be done.

I find myself with a pocket of alone time here.  Cap is up at school and the kids are at Tiina's.  I guess I'll catch up with the blog.  Working backwards...

It is National Poetry Month here in the States.  I am a latecomer to poetry appreciation.  But, I really dig it now.  The little bits here and there that I come across and read (I don't read much poetry...haven't been reading much of anything lately, come to think of it.)  Mary Oliver is a favorite.

I pulled down our poetry volumes (mostly the collections geared towards children) and put them in a basket.  I asked the kids to search for a poem that spoke to them and they both found Shel Silverstein poems they liked.  (Lesson 1: poetry doesn't have to be drab or "old"...it can even make you laugh!)

We'll be reading poems for the rest of the month.

They really do love comics.  A few nights ago they went to the comic book store with Cap.  Their box was empty (they have "subscriptions" to a number of titles).  No worries, once home, they searched out comics already in the house and enjoyed some pleasant night time reading.

Gem loves grape juice.  We've been buying it more often lately and I have been enjoying it, too.  I like mine cut with some seltzer.

These photos just seem a pair.  The kids have been reading Science and Social Studies books and writing them up.  Culling facts, citing page numbers, searching for additional resources on the topic, categorizing which branches the subject(s) of the books would fit on the trees of "Science" and "Social Studies"...  Oh, and also whether they are interested in further study of the topics.  (So far, Benjamin Franklin has gotten a "yes" from Gem and we requested a book about Mr. Franklin from the library.)

The above photo is Gem doing a computer search of additional resources.

The lower photo is Sag doing some free reading.  He was either waiting for me to be done doing something with Gem, or was done for the day and was hanging out.  I took the pic because he was wearing his Pokemon trainer outfit.  He has a favorite trainer (his name is Blue, I think) and has put together an outfit which closely resembles Blue's.  Adorable.

How I wished I had a better telephoto lens when I spotted this squirrel out the front window.  I opened the window and reached my arm out as far as it would go and snapped the shot.  As soon as the window opened, this critter went into, subtle, but high alert.  S/he was gone after the first shot.

Last weekend, I made beef short ribs for my sister-in-law, deviled eggs for my brother, and brownies for, frankly, myself.  I spent most of the morning and early afternoon cooking and baking and ducking out for some book shopping for the girls.  Then we headed into Queens to meet the new baby.

I took these shots because the colors were so strong...almost primal, in real life.

Owen brought over these nifty building thingies last week.  The boys got right down to it.  (Practically in front of the door, glad they took my suggestion of moving into the middle of the room where there was more space :-)

Perfect.  The kids will be home momentarily.  Off to make dinner.  All caught up.

Falling back

The NYT featured six poems themed around the time change.  Two were by poets I like a lot: Louise Glück and Mary Oliver.  Enjoy.

Parable
 
First divesting ourselves of worldly goods, as St. Francis teaches,
in order that our souls not be distracted
by gain and loss, and in order also
that our bodies be free to move
easily at the mountain passes, we had then to discuss
whither or where we might travel, with the second question being
should we have a purpose, against which
many of us argued fiercely that such purpose
corresponded to worldly goods, meaning a limitation or constriction,
whereas others said it was by this word we were consecrated
pilgrims rather than wanderers: in our minds, the word translated as
a dream, a something-sought, so that by concentrating we might see it
glimmering among the stones, and not
pass blindly by; each
further issue we debated equally fully, the arguments going back and forth,
so that we grew, some said, less flexible and more resigned,
like soldiers in a useless war. And snow fell upon us, and wind blew,
which in time abated — where the snow had been, many flowers appeared,
and where the stars had shone, the sun rose over the tree line
so that we had shadows again; many times this happened.
Also rain, also flooding sometimes, also avalanches, in which
some of us were lost, and periodically we would seem
to have achieved an agreement; our canteens
hoisted upon our shoulders, but always that moment passed, so
(after many years) we were still at that first stage, still
preparing to begin a journey, but we were changed nevertheless;
we could see this in one another; we had changed although
we never moved, and one said, ah, behold how we have aged, traveling
from day to night only, neither forward nor sideward, and this seemed
in a strange way miraculous. And those who believed we should have a purpose
believed this was the purpose, and those who felt we must remain free
in order to encounter truth, felt it had been revealed.
 
— LOUISE GLÜCK


Lines Written in the Days of Growing Darkness
 
Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends
into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.
And therefore
who would cry out
to the petals on the ground
to stay,
knowing, as we must,
how the vivacity of what was is married
to the vitality of what will be?
I don’t say
it’s easy, but
what else will do
if the love one claims to have for the world
be true?
So let us go on
though the sun be swinging east,
and the ponds be cold and black,
and the sweets of the year be doomed.

— MARY OLIVER

Turning

I'm straddling a line with a smile.

On the one hand, I could be turning a corner in a maze.  Like a lab rat.

On the other, I could be turning in dance.  Like a dervish.

Last night's Ingudai Tibs and ginger shai were so so so tasty.  Sublime.  Nourishing.  And really, not too far off the Dragon's path.  Zombieland was just as fun the second time around.

This morning went off without a hitch.  Gem and I arrived just before the doors were unlocked to get our blood drawn.  We were second in a waiting room that soon filled to capacity.  As close to in and out as you can get in a doctor's office.

Today will include swimming for the kids, searching for a red beret for Gem's costume, and a Halloween party tonight.  The background will be a crisp and chilly and colorful late October day.

I picked this up last night when I saw these words on the back cover:

"...she has turned her attention in these poems to the solitary and difficult labors of the spirit---to accepting the truth about one's personal world, and to valuing the triumphs while transcending the failures of human relationships..."

Poems later would be nice.

Alabanza

Alabanza: In Praise of Local 100

by Martín Espada

for the 43 members of Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees Local l00, working at the Windows on the World restaurant, who lost their lives in the attack on the World Trade Center

Alabanza. Praise the cook with a shaven head
and a tattoo on his shoulder that said Oye,
a blue-eyed Puerto Rican with people from Fajardo,
the harbor of pirates centuries ago.
Praise the lighthouse in Fajardo, candle
glimmering white to worship the dark saint of the sea.
Alabanza. Praise the cook’s yellow Pirates cap
worn in the name of Roberto Clemente, his plane
that flamed into the ocean loaded with cans for Nicaragua,
for all the mouths chewing the ash of earthquakes.
Alabanza. Praise the kitchen radio, dial clicked
even before the dial on the oven, so that music and Spanish
rose before bread. Praise the bread. Alabanza.

Praise Manhattan from a hundred and seven flights up,
like Atlantis glimpsed through the windows of an ancient aquarium.
Praise the great windows where immigrants from the kitchen
could squint and almost see their world, hear the chant of nations:
Ecuador, México, Republica Dominicana,
Haiti, Yemen, Ghana, Bangladesh.
Alabanza. Praise the kitchen in the morning,
where the gas burned blue on every stove
and exhaust fans fired their diminutive propellers,
hands cracked eggs with quick thumbs
or sliced open cartons to build an altar of cans.
Alabanza. Praise the busboy’s music, the chime-chime
of his dishes and silverware in the tub.

Alabanza. Praise the dish-dog, the dishwasher
who worked that morning because another dishwasher
could not stop coughing, or because he needed overtime
to pile the sacks of rice and beans for a family
floating away on some Caribbean island plagued by frogs.
Alabanza. Praise the waitress who heard the radio in the kitchen
and sang to herself about a man gone. Alabanza.

After the thunder wilder than thunder,
after the shudder deep in the glass of the great windows,
after the radio stopped singing like a tree full of terrified frogs,
after night burst the dam of day and flooded the kitchen,
for a time the stoves glowed in darkness like the lighthouse in Fajardo,
like a cook’s soul. Soul I say, even if the dead cannot tell us
about the bristles of God’s beard because God has no face,
soul I say, to name the smoke-beings flung in constellations
across the night sky of this city and cities to come.
Alabanza I say, even if God has no face.

Alabanza. When the war began, from Manhattan and Kabul
two constellations of smoke rose and drifted to each other,
mingling in icy air, and one said with an Afghan tongue:
Teach me to dance. We have no music here.
And the other said with a Spanish tongue:
I will teach you. Music is all we have.

The sound of the sun

Eleanor's companion, Paul, just linked to a cool poetry website on Facebook. I found this poem via their "Poem A Day" feed.

The Sound of the Sun

by George Bradley

It makes one all right, though you hadn’t thought of it,
A sound like the sound of the sky on fire, like Armageddon,
Whistling and crackling, the explosions of sunlight booming
As the huge mass of gas rages into the emptiness around it.
It isn’t a sound you are often aware of, though the light speeds
To us in seconds, each dawn leaping easily across a chasm
Of space that swallows the sound of that sphere, but
If you listen closely some morning, when the sun swells
Over the horizon and the world is still and still asleep,
You might hear it, a faint noise so far inside your mind
That it must come from somewhere, from light rushing to darkness,
Energy burning towards entropy, towards a peaceful solution,
Burning brilliantly, spontaneously, in the middle of nowhere,
And you, too, must make a sound that is somewhat like it,
Though that, of course, you have no way of hearing at all.

The little things

Pokemon is still going strong here. The kids have been drawing/making their own Pokemon cards (they buy cards, as well).

He's reading about World Cup soccer during a D.E.A.R. (drop everything and read) time. Sag has been reading Captain Underpants books lately and I recently started Children of God (the sequel to The Sparrow).

I am so pleased that Apollo hasn't expired during his stay with us. I cleaned his tank the other night and he is invigorated.

These are the lists the kids made for today. Notice the joker who wrote "today's date" at the top of his paper.

It's been a quiet and busy day. A pleasant hum of activity has been our background music. Sag has a sore throat I'm keeping my eye on, I'm knitting Felicity every chance I get, I'm fiddling with poetic words and phrases, and realizing that I don't have an episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia to watch tonight. That's okay, I have last night's Louie to carry me over.

I may be an ADDish Renaissance woman, but I'm feeling the energy of coming into my own as a Renaissance woman and am digging it.

Favorite poem

I discovered last night, after posting, that there's a website devoted to NaBloPoMo. And there are suggested daily writing prompts. Which is handy because I was wondering what the heck I was going to write about everyday.

Today's prompt is to write about your favorite poem. And if you don't have one, to write about why.

My earliest full memory of a poem is Casey At The Bat. I was in fourth grade, or maybe sixth, and our class had to memorize the poem and recite it during a school assembly. I did not enjoy the exercise. Nor did I connect with the material. But, there were sparks. Which is why I remember it so clearly.

I love taking part in choral expression. I've known this about myself in respect to singing, but until now, I didn't realize the same goes for recitation. The idea extends itself and I recognize my affection for chanting in a group.

In the thirty plus years since Casey At The Bat touched my life, I have not sought out poetry, for the most part. But, poems (and poets) have found me.

One such poem is Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver. I tend to like poems, songs and non-fiction writing that carry on its shoulders the mantle of the natural world. It's a vital point of arrival and departure. Of connection.

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Hasty tasty round up

We've been busy.  And excited.  Super excited.  About a certain 8th birthday.  (This Äiti will be happy when the weekend is in the rear view :-)

Here's an assortment of recent delicious moments we've enjoyed...

There's nothing like chilling with best friends, watching a favorite show (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) and enjoying some yummy snacks.

 

Sag has lost two teeth in as many weeks.

From Cap.  There's a second haiku on the other side.  A clever frame for a wonderful homemade gift.  Thank you.

Sag has been boning up a bit on Egypt, specifically hieroglyphics.

Gem in a contemplative moment...working on something about sharks or early American history.

At 10pm last night, inspiration struck: Gem sewing his "Gem Man" symbol patch which he then planned to sew onto the shirt.

Some Wintuk snowflakes made their way home with us.  Thank you to Baba who treated the kids and me to a spectacular show.  And to NJ Transit who continues to refuse to charge me for the kids when we train it in and out of the city :-)

 

 

An impromptu play date today with Tiina and the kids.  Spending time with kindred spirits...such a special treat.