I know this post is a week late, but it's been on my mind so I thought I'd share. This year, as 9/11 approached, I found that I wasn't looking forward to all the heart-wrenching speeches and film clips that would be on every media channel. I wasn't even in the mood to have my annual cry through this tribute*. I just felt there had to be a better way to memorialize the victims of September 11 than tugging our collective heartstrings.
That's why I'm grateful to have heard an NPR interview that offered a more positive alternative. The interviewee was Jay Winuk, whose brother was a volunteer firefighter who lost his life trying to help others in the Twin Towers on 9/11. Since so many died in an effort to serve others that day, and so many more gave blood and performed other acts of service in the aftermath, Jay Winuk has labored to have the day declared a national day of service.
I like the idea of honoring the fallen by doing something positive in their name, and countering hatred with love. I found a little act of service to do this year, and next year I want to take time to plan something a little more significant. We'll see what I come up with.
*Though, of course, I did both watch and cry after all--and it amazes me that those images can still touch me so deeply. I suppose people who remember Pearl Harbor feel the same way.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Burnt Bran Muffins
I wanted to bring refreshments to an Enrichment presentation I planned to give tonight, so I made refrigerator bran muffin batter last night and planned to cook a few dozen muffins this afternoon. The first batch came out fine, but as I spooned batter into the second round of muffin cups Daniel became very bored and fussy. I worked frantically to fill the rest of the muffin cups and get them into the oven, then I hurried over to comfort my crying baby.
I often find that when I let my baby cry while I rush through some non-expedient cooking task, that task goes unexpectedly awry. So it was today. I cooked the second batch of muffins on the same heat setting, in the same (cooled) pans, for the same amount of time as the first batch, but for some mysterious reason they all burned. I put that batch in the trash, humbly waited until life had calmed down, then I prepared a third batch with Daniel sitting contentedly on my lap. I watched that batch like a hawk its last few minutes in the oven, and it turned out just fine.
No doubt there is some logical reason why one batch burned and the other two didn't, but at this point that doesn't matter much to me. Sometimes the lesson learned matters more than the circumstances behind it.
I often find that when I let my baby cry while I rush through some non-expedient cooking task, that task goes unexpectedly awry. So it was today. I cooked the second batch of muffins on the same heat setting, in the same (cooled) pans, for the same amount of time as the first batch, but for some mysterious reason they all burned. I put that batch in the trash, humbly waited until life had calmed down, then I prepared a third batch with Daniel sitting contentedly on my lap. I watched that batch like a hawk its last few minutes in the oven, and it turned out just fine.
No doubt there is some logical reason why one batch burned and the other two didn't, but at this point that doesn't matter much to me. Sometimes the lesson learned matters more than the circumstances behind it.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Ganache
Sorry I haven't written in a while--I've never had a spare minute and something meaningful to say at the same time. And frankly, I don't have anything terribly profound to write at this moment, either, but the mood struck me so here we go.
I made ganache for the first time a few days ago. It was just mini chocolate chips and boiled cream, and I didn't even get all the chips to melt completely, but it still looked pretty snazzy on the cake. There was some ganache left over, and I decided to save it in the fridge because I've heard you can make it into truffles.
So this afternoon I was in the mood for a few truffles. OK, let me rephrase that--I'm always in the mood for a few truffles, but this afternoon I remembered that I had the stuff on hand to make some. I assumed it would be a simple procedure: spoon some chilled ganache out of the container, roll it into a ball, roll the ball in cocoa, and eat it (or store it in the fridge, if you're disciplined like that). Apparently the process is more complicated than that, because instead of forming into a firm ball the ganache started melting into a gooey mess. So I did what any sensible woman would do--I stuck it in my mouth as quickly as possible.
Sweet Sister Lizzy, that stuff was good. Before I knew it, I was spooning ganache into my mouth as if it were the key ingredient to wisdom, health, and happiness. Within thirty seconds I'd consumed more calories than the average person should eat in two days. I finally willed myself to put the container back in the fridge and leave the room. If I'd used Ghiradelli or some other similarly luscious brand of chocolate instead of Nestle, I'd probably have eaten the whole thing in one sitting.
At least I would have died happy. :)
I made ganache for the first time a few days ago. It was just mini chocolate chips and boiled cream, and I didn't even get all the chips to melt completely, but it still looked pretty snazzy on the cake. There was some ganache left over, and I decided to save it in the fridge because I've heard you can make it into truffles.
So this afternoon I was in the mood for a few truffles. OK, let me rephrase that--I'm always in the mood for a few truffles, but this afternoon I remembered that I had the stuff on hand to make some. I assumed it would be a simple procedure: spoon some chilled ganache out of the container, roll it into a ball, roll the ball in cocoa, and eat it (or store it in the fridge, if you're disciplined like that). Apparently the process is more complicated than that, because instead of forming into a firm ball the ganache started melting into a gooey mess. So I did what any sensible woman would do--I stuck it in my mouth as quickly as possible.
Sweet Sister Lizzy, that stuff was good. Before I knew it, I was spooning ganache into my mouth as if it were the key ingredient to wisdom, health, and happiness. Within thirty seconds I'd consumed more calories than the average person should eat in two days. I finally willed myself to put the container back in the fridge and leave the room. If I'd used Ghiradelli or some other similarly luscious brand of chocolate instead of Nestle, I'd probably have eaten the whole thing in one sitting.
At least I would have died happy. :)
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Spaghetti and the Laws of Physics
How to simulate a volcanic eruption in your kitchen:
1) Make spaghetti sauce.
2) Spoon some into a Tupperware container.
3) Get the bright idea that the contents will settle nicely if you bang the container down on your counter.
4) Execute idea with gusto.
5) Clean red sauce off your hair, eyes, shirt, stove, fruit bowl, toddler . . .
Note: Do not wear white apparel when attempting this experiment.
1) Make spaghetti sauce.
2) Spoon some into a Tupperware container.
3) Get the bright idea that the contents will settle nicely if you bang the container down on your counter.
4) Execute idea with gusto.
5) Clean red sauce off your hair, eyes, shirt, stove, fruit bowl, toddler . . .
Note: Do not wear white apparel when attempting this experiment.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
I Do Hard Things
I work from home an hour or two a day, and recently a coworker asked me to take on a new project. It’s complicated, tedious work, and I had a very hard time motivating myself to do it, but I knew it was important and no one else had a spare minute to devote to it.
One day, when I’d done every other task I possibly could but still struggled to start on the new project, I suddenly remembered STM’s post about a book called “Do Hard Things.” As I stared at my computer I thought to myself, “I do hard things,” then plunged into the project. Somehow, that mental declaration gave me the determination I needed to get started.
Practically every day since, when I’ve stared down the barrel of that darn project, I’ve found myself saying again, “I do hard things.” It gives me the momentum to begin, and gradually it’s getting easier for me to start on the task even without my little mantra. As Emerson wisely noted, “That which we persist in doing becomes easier, not that the task itself has become easier, but that our ability to perform it has improved.” Thank heaven.
One day, when I’d done every other task I possibly could but still struggled to start on the new project, I suddenly remembered STM’s post about a book called “Do Hard Things.” As I stared at my computer I thought to myself, “I do hard things,” then plunged into the project. Somehow, that mental declaration gave me the determination I needed to get started.
Practically every day since, when I’ve stared down the barrel of that darn project, I’ve found myself saying again, “I do hard things.” It gives me the momentum to begin, and gradually it’s getting easier for me to start on the task even without my little mantra. As Emerson wisely noted, “That which we persist in doing becomes easier, not that the task itself has become easier, but that our ability to perform it has improved.” Thank heaven.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Driven
My friend STM feels driven to write and publish a novel. I don't. I like the idea of publishing something (possibly an essay or historical work, since I have absolutely no talent for writing fiction), but I just don't feel a burning need to see my words printed and bound.
Nevertheless, I do feel utterly driven to write. That may surprise you, since I recently went over a month without posting anything here (sorry about that). Actually, most of my writing is done in my journal. This year alone, I've written 129 pages filled with 82,535 words. It took me months to compose a mere ten pages of my master's thesis, yet I often find myself writing a page a day in my journal about our adventures, my musings, or just the mundane joys and frustrations of marriage and parenthood.
Why do I regularly stay up past midnight writing (and even proofreading and revising) things that no one else may ever read in my lifetime--or after it, for that matter? It's crazy. I need sleep. Yet, when something's on my mind, recording or sorting through it seems so much more important than the sleep I'm missing out on. My journals and I have been burning midnight oil by the gallon since high school, and we'll probably keep doing it for the rest of my life. Maybe someday I'll understand why.
Nevertheless, I do feel utterly driven to write. That may surprise you, since I recently went over a month without posting anything here (sorry about that). Actually, most of my writing is done in my journal. This year alone, I've written 129 pages filled with 82,535 words. It took me months to compose a mere ten pages of my master's thesis, yet I often find myself writing a page a day in my journal about our adventures, my musings, or just the mundane joys and frustrations of marriage and parenthood.
Why do I regularly stay up past midnight writing (and even proofreading and revising) things that no one else may ever read in my lifetime--or after it, for that matter? It's crazy. I need sleep. Yet, when something's on my mind, recording or sorting through it seems so much more important than the sleep I'm missing out on. My journals and I have been burning midnight oil by the gallon since high school, and we'll probably keep doing it for the rest of my life. Maybe someday I'll understand why.
Babies Don't Bother with Small Talk
Phillip had a rough afternoon recently, and though I did my best to cheer him up, the thing that seemed to help him most was spending some time with Baby Daniel. Mere moments after Phillip picked him up, his cares seemed to melt away and the two were smiling and laughing together.
I’ve noticed that babies often have that effect on people. Pedestrians who barely make eye contact with me will smile and possibly even stop to talk to my kids. I do the same thing with other people’s babies and toddlers, but I can’t quite put my finger on the reason why I feel so comfortable interacting with young children, but often so uncomfortable connecting with their parents. Perhaps it is because children are simpler. You don’t have to read between the lines with them, or sift through small talk long enough to find a common interest. You just have to be friendly and they are usually friendly back.
Interaction with children may also be more comfortable because they are non-threatening. They don’t categorize or judge you. Kids don’t rate people as better or worse than them; they either play with you or ignore you, but they never reject you. You’re free to be yourself around them, because all they really care about is whether you’re warm and cheerful, as well. I suppose that's one reason the Lord told us to be childlike. It would be a much gentler world if we cared more about whether a person was good and kind than whether they were better, worse, or different from us.
I’ve noticed that babies often have that effect on people. Pedestrians who barely make eye contact with me will smile and possibly even stop to talk to my kids. I do the same thing with other people’s babies and toddlers, but I can’t quite put my finger on the reason why I feel so comfortable interacting with young children, but often so uncomfortable connecting with their parents. Perhaps it is because children are simpler. You don’t have to read between the lines with them, or sift through small talk long enough to find a common interest. You just have to be friendly and they are usually friendly back.
Interaction with children may also be more comfortable because they are non-threatening. They don’t categorize or judge you. Kids don’t rate people as better or worse than them; they either play with you or ignore you, but they never reject you. You’re free to be yourself around them, because all they really care about is whether you’re warm and cheerful, as well. I suppose that's one reason the Lord told us to be childlike. It would be a much gentler world if we cared more about whether a person was good and kind than whether they were better, worse, or different from us.
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