Ash Wednesday

I was scrolling through my google reader this morning, and one of my college friends has posted this wonderfully apt poem on Death.

You should go read it!  And if you like it, do let Margaret know :)

Isn't it great how we can experience so much more in life through the experience and urgings of our friends?

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Fiction Friday

The door closed and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.  He often had his hands in his pockets, especially on nights like this.

It wasn't that his hands were cold, of course.  They always found his pockets after he saw her.  He'd never really thought about it, but it was his own small defense mechanism--hands in the pockets was a sign for anyone to read:  "Leave me alone.  I don't want to talk to you."  So he walked down the steps and around the corner, picking his slow way home through the chilly evening, musing on their conversation, kicking pebbles with his toe.

"Are you happy?" he had asked her.  He always asked that question, even though he knew her answer.

"Oh yes, very much!" she said, eyes shining.  She always said that.

It all seemed a bit idyllic to him, no matter how many times she said it, no matter how often she explained it.  He had heard that people could be happy like that.  That it suited some people to live the life she did.  But he never saw it for her.

Hadn't he known her since she was young?  Hadn't they had grown up together, played together, gone to school together?  They had the same classes and knew the same people and liked the same things.  She had so much potential, so much energy, and so much promise!  He had seen great things in her future, wonderful things.  And yet he couldn't wrap his own conception of her around the fierce reality of her happiness as he sat there, face to face with her smile.

Christmastime

Our little home is getting ready.. we're all getting excited.

I'm so glad to see my favorite ornaments, too.

Christians Never Say Goodbye

This afternoon I attended a memorial mass for a friend's father, who died 5 years ago.  For me, now, any memorial mass for a parent touches very close to home, and I found myself reflecting on Momma's death, too.

I saw my friend and her mother in the front pew, and I could tell my friend was crying. I thought of Momma's funeral and my family in the front rows.  Daddy, me, Taylor, Vivian. My sister Summer's family. Ray and his family; Bethany and her family.  I remembered how good it was to have so much of my family there beside me, feeling our loss all together.  It was easier to bear the pain when I could hold Vivian's hand or cling to Daddy's arm.  It was more comforting to bury my face in Taylor's shoulder than into my handkerchief alone.

When I first faced the fact that my mother was dying, I thought of my friend, whose father also died from cancer.  She is an only child and I remember thinking to myself, "She only has her mother left to remember her father from her childhood."  I wasn't judging her or her parents for having a "small" family; I wasn't trying to congratulate myself for having "so many" siblings.  It was merely an observation I had at the time, wrapped all about with the coming loss of my mother.  I was especially thankful for my siblings, then, and for my nieces and nephews who had known Grandmama while she was with us.

Thanksgiving Dinner for Fifteen

success.

Thanks Giving

Thanksgiving was always Momma's favorite holiday.  She told me it was her favorite because all she had to worry about was food. And--let's be honest here (in case you haven't figured this out yet)--my family was really into food.

Especially Momma.  

And boy did she "worry" about the food.  Not that she stressed out about it, but she planned and planned for it. I think she really looked forward to the holidays all year long, planning for months ahead of time: stocking up recipes and thinking about what she'd make and how she'd serve it. She loved parties.

She had stacks of magazines with recipes she wanted to try.  Countless cookbooks were piled on her bookshelves. Her recipe box was stuffed with 3 x 5 cards.  Every year she'd try at least one new dish.  Usually, there would be several--sweet, savory, and cookie-y.

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The Baker In Me

I've always loved to bake.  I get it from my mother.  My earliest memories of her in the kitchen, especially around the holidays, were her baking.  She probably made something of everything over her lifetime.  Cakes, cookies, candy, baked decorations.. it was wonderful to see how she loved to make.

Her mother loved it too.  As Thanksgiving approached, Big Mom (that's what we called my maternal grandmother--she was, after all, from Texas) would start to bake sugar cookies. Batches of them! She carefully sorted through her two or three suitcases of cookie cutters, picking which ones she wanted to use that year, and she'd mix, chill, roll, cut, bake, and store the cookies for days on end. Then she would put her kids to work frosting them.  There were plain cookies and imprinted cookies and all shapes and sizes (we have a tree cookie cutter from her stash that's nearly a foot tall), turkeys, pumpkins, santas, stockings, even full nativity set figures.

Questions

Anyone (and I mean anyone) who has interacted with a young child has heard the question "Why?" about a ga-zillion times.  "Ok, put you're shoes on!" "Why?" "Because we're going to the store." "Why?" Because we need to get some food. Why? Because we have to eat. Why? Because our bodies need food to stay alive. Why? Because our cells need the energy in the food to function. Why? Um.. because God made it that way!

[Ok, I love you, buh-bye!]

Certainly the preponderance of questions from little ones can be wearying for even the most patient grown-up. But what is it about little kids that is so inquisitive?  Is it merely that they are so young and don't know as much as we, the enlightened adults, do?  Have they simply not asked the right number of questions which gets them to a point when they don't ask "why" anymore?  Or, rather, is it because as they get older, much of the questioning becomes internal and they answer the "why" themselves?

If we think about it, aren't grownups just as inquisitive as little kids? See, I don't think the questions stop as you grow up and get smarter.  I don't think there's a limit to the questions. The questions change, certainly.  Theoretically, after the kid learns about food and digestion and feeding the cells, he won't ask why we need food to eat.

But what about all the other questions that arise from our little dialogue above? What are cells? What are they made of? What do they do? Why did God make it so? Why don't we have any food in the house? Why do I have to put my shoes on if we're going outside? Why is there such a thing as a store? What's inside it? Why do I have to ride in the cart? Can I have a balloon?

Questions never end.  In fact, the process of questioning is so important that people say there's something wrong if someone doesn't ask questions, that we're not using our intellect.  I think they're right.  If we don't ask questions about our experience, how can we possibly form any sound ideas about anything?

Ah, but there's the rub. With questioning comes the responsibility of judgment.  If I question and understand, and still refuse to judge, I am lying to myself and deliberately ignoring my duty as a know-er.  When children ask questions--and when those questions are answered--we are forming their conscience from a young age.  We are teaching them to reason, to think, to wonder, and to understand.

Sometimes, their questions can make us uncomfortable.  Oftentimes, their questions give us pause and we must reconsider our own understanding or worldview.  But this is good for us too. Grownups can get lazy in their questioning process. [I know--I'm quite lazy myself.]  I sometimes ignore certain questions simmering in the back of my mind because I'm afraid of what the answer might be.  Kids aren't afraid of questions. They can ask questions all day, about anything, and remain happy as a clam, processing things right down to the moment they fall asleep, letting their dreams continue their journey of exploration.  Kids just want to know. Everything. They want to know what's true, what has happened, what will happen, and what we are to do now.

Shouldn't we all want to know those things? Shouldn't we want to know everything about everything?

For Shame

In my (admittedly limited) adoption reading, I have frequently come across stories wrapped round in shame.

Allow me to qualify.  First, many of the stories I have read are older stories, sometimes decades old. Second, the sense of shame does not emanate from the adoptive families, the adoptees, or (really, deep down) the birth parents.  Rather, it seems to come from outside. From society. From (well-intentioned but mis-guided) agency workers. From parents or extended family or friends.

I get the feeling that, for years, the general mind-set has been to struggle through the adoption and then to forget that it happened.  Adoptive parents are seen as "rescuers" of their adopted children, as if they have stooped to raise the child. "Oh, that's so kind of you," friends say. [No kinder than biological parents "stooping" to raise their biological children. All parenthood is simply Love.] 

Adoptees who begin the search for their birth parents have been faced with closed case files which can't be opened. They aren't allowed to search for the knowledge of their own historicity. It has been deemed, by some authority, better for all involved if the information remains secret. And so, questions remain unanswered.  Stories and histories remain unshared.  This is not fair.

It's not fair for the birth parents either.  Lately there has been a rise in awareness of the grief women suffer after having an abortion. (For many years, the question that such grief could be present was overlooked and not investigated.) I believe the experience of a woman who gives birth and places her child(ren) for adoption is similar to grief after abortion.  Not that her loss is exactly the same as a woman who has lost a child through abortion, but the grief of these birth mothers is certainly present, and it has been overlooked. Forgotten. Neglected. For too long.

My impression has been that, after giving birth, these mothers are told, "it's over. forget about it. it's a mistake that you don't have to think about anymore."

A mistake.  I admit that her pregnancy may have been unplanned, but Life is never a mistake.  As a future adoptive mother myself, I cannot accept that the child I am meant to have through adoption is a mistake.

I don't want to turn this into a debate about the pros or cons of open adoption in all its many and varied forms.  But I will say, I am shocked that the shame surrounding the adoption process has persisted so long.  The pain an expectant mother feels when she decides (for whatever reason) that she will place her child for adoption should be an opportunity for her community to support her.  Especially in these days of legalized abortion, her choice for Life should be praised and commended.

The blessing that adoption exists, and that life can continue and thrive, should be a cause for joy, in spite of the grief.  The grief will not vanish if the shame is lifted.  But if the birth parents are allowed to grieve, if the child is allowed to know his history, if society can show true charity in the face of "mistakes" and embrace adoption whole-heartedly, the pain and sorrow will be lessened. It can be shared.

I am proud to be part of someone's adoption story. I am only at the beginning, and I have much still to learn, but I am excited and humbled that an expectant mother, somewhere, might choose me to be the mother of her child.  I want my child to know his birth parents, to know how much he is wanted and loved, from the first moment of his life.  I will gladly tell him the story of how he came into our family.  I will tell his friends and his friends' families.

There is no shame in the Love revealed in adoption. It's time "society in general" comes to grips with that.

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[given the proximity of this to my last post, a small note of clarification: this is my best friend's family w/ her new baby] :) 

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Retro-spect

I first met my husband spring semester my freshman year of college (2003) when he was a senior in high school (though actually, at that point, he'd "finished" his senior year and was in the midst of a 9-month summer vacation (no, his parents didn't make that mistake again)).  He and some of his friends (and a miscellaneous collection of their fathers) came over to the east side of WA to visit GU--just to see what it was like.  I introduced myself to him at a party, and we exchanged contact information.  We weren't interested in each other as more than friends--we both had other crushes, in fact.

We emailed back and forth a lot that summer. I was living with my sister-in-law, who was expecting her third kid and had a lot of baby stories :) The most memorable emails, though, were those we sent while I was on a retreat at a convent :) Oh, the dreams we shared that weekend. It was uplifting to meet a guy so excited about religious life.

I first met my husband's family while I was dating someone else.  My then-boyfriend was gone for the weekend so Taylor and a few of his friends invited me over to Seattle to get away from campus.  A timely invitation, just as fall semester (2003) was taking off!  We dropped T off at his house first. Their kitchen was being remodeled at the time, so "operations" were held in the basement.

Sebastian (now 9) was still a toddler, binky and all, and I think T's mum was just pregnant with Lydia.  I remember going down to the basement with everyone and simply being quiet, in the background, listening to T's friends chat with "Mrs. Black." T was cuddling Sebastian, who had run to him when T walked in the door, climbed into his arms, and stayed their the entire conversation.  Meanwhile, I spent the rest of the weekend with the girl Taylor liked.  I remember she and I talked about how she might marry Taylor someday.. if things panned out.

That was T's freshman year. We both maintained our other romantic interests, never guessing that in just one year, we'd be dating and on our way to marriage.  How funny to look back and see how things developed.  We lived in the same building on campus and would talk together about our relationships and friends.  I remember visiting T in his room one cold night toward the end of fall semester.  He had his heater on all the way and the window wide open.  I thought it was strange--what a waste of electricity, right?--but that it was also oddly refreshing to have the blazing warmth of the heater and the cold blasts of crisp air from outside swirling together all around me.

That summer, I broke up with my boyfriend, realizing the relationship had no future, and I made big plans to have a "single senior year" at college [I skipped a year, in case you were wondering where my junior year went].  I was going on to graduate school after I graduated, possibly all the way across the country, and I just didn't have time for any more silly relationships clouding up God's plans for me.  I had to be on track, and I had everything figured out.

Or so I thought.

I got back to GU, fall 2004 classes started, and I began to see Taylor more often around campus. We'd serendipitously eat together and sometimes walk to class together (his new dorm was on my way to campus).We went on the Pilgrimage retreat together--a long hike to the first Jesuit mission in ID.  I guess that's when we really started getting to know each other.

I was in a photography class that semester and he would accompany me on my photo walks.  To this day, some of my favorite pictures of him are ones that I took on hand-rolled 100 ISO black and white film, which I developed and made prints of myself.  Fun memories :)

Then Taylor proposed!  Wait--you want to know if I missed something? No. He did propose, but not like a real proposal.  We were chatting together, talking about all my sweet nieces and nephews, and T's wonderful younger siblings, and he said,

"Anne, why can't we just get married, start having babies, and have fun?"  

Naturally, I said,

"Ok! but you'd have to get me a ring."  

Without missing a beat, T pulled a rosary ring off his desk and handed it to me.  And there ya go :) for a whole week, we were "engaged."  Who says you can't make-believe as a grown-up?

But he went home to visit his family that weekend and, apparently, realized he really liked me enough to want to date me for real.  So when he came back to campus, he asked me,

"Anne, can I date you with the intention of discerning what God wants from our relationship?"  

Seriously! What more could I ask for!?

Two weeks later, he told me he was in love with me.  Three months after that, he told my father he wanted to marry me.  Five months after that, he asked to spend the rest of my life with me.  And 10 months after that, we were married.  Talk about whirlwind :)

The other day we were chatting with two of our dear friends about their pilgrimage/honeymoon.  Michaela was telling us about a slope they were laboring to climb.  At a certain point, they stopped for a breath and a drink of water and looked down the mountain.  And she told us,

"You can't see it, when you're walking, what it means to be where you are."

And that really struck me.  In fact, I wrote it down right there (I don't think they noticed) ;) and kept it.

I never knew, when I sat down in front of that "lonely little boy" at that party, that I was saying hello to the man who would come to know me better than anyone.  Looking back, I am in awe of the landscape of my past, the paths that led Taylor and me together, and the ways we've walked together.

I am so glad for memory.  It is true that we only have the present to live in, but to be able to look back and see how far we've come is a blessing. A tremendous blessing.  Because to see your past with the perspective of the present is revelatory and enlightening.  Michaela's right, you can't see it, when you're walking now, what it means to be where you are.  But that's a blessing too, really.

Another One

Another custom purse, for the awesome girlfriend of one of T's law buddies.

Here you go, D--some pictures to pine away the time until you receive it :)

This is one of the three-in-one purses.  Three materials, three outsides, (three straps--just tuck that middle one inside when you're not using it), all in one purse.

Not a bad deal, really :)

D wanted key-fobs, pockets for chapstick and tissues, pockets that close, a few pen slots, and matching front buttons.  Hope she likes it!

Want one? :)

What Did YOU Do This Weekend?

We were busy.  We had four of our dear friend stay with us--the Camachos (who were married last year) and the van Versendaals (who were married last month).  It's true, in our one bedroom apartment, that things were a tad.. squished, but all the merrier with good friends, right? :)

They arrived Friday evening, which was a good thing because I've found it difficult to keep my house clean this summer!  It's in a fairly consistent state of tidy-ness, but the cleanliness is a variable factor.  I don't want my guests to have a clear but mucky floor to sleep on, after all. So when I got off work early on Friday it was the perfect opportunity to tidy and clean the house thoroughly enough for our friends.  It calms me, too, y'know, to know I've done a nice cleaning before people come over and that my house is just as ready as I am to welcome them with warm (or, this time of year, cool) arms.

We had home-made sushi for dinner that night--with (nearly) everyone jumping in to make a roll. And we wives were in a prime spot in the kitchen because (you see) when one is still learning how to properly roll up the sushi, there are always pieces that aren't.. presentable :) and must be disposed of! Also, I am happy to report that the sushi-grade tuna I got from my fish lady was a success!  It was tasty, perfect texture, plenty of it, and we're all still alive and healthy, which is really the deal-breaker. Exciting!

I made a spiced fig upside-down cake for dessert, which (seriously) was totally delicious.  I didn't even have anything planned for the figs when I bought them on Thursday, since I didn't have a chicken in my freezer, but they were there, all lonely and they seemed to be calling to me: Annie! bring us home! So I did. And they seemed quite happy in their cooked-soon-to-be-gobbled state :)

Saturday was another affair entirely.  The Camachos had brunch with their sister, but the van's stayed home with us for oatmeal, leftover fig cake (!), and Taylor-made coffee.  We had a lovely chat, hearing all about their (amazing!) pilgrimage-honeymoon on the Way of St. James, and leisurely made our way to Harvard square to meet up with the Camachos for the afternoon.  Strolling around Harvard was hot business, but (to make it feel cooler outside) I got a delicious dry cappuccino at Crema Cafe.  The theory is that if my insides are hotter than the outside temperature, stepping outside will feel cool.. ish.  Sort of :) Eh, it was a great capp regardless!

We stopped at Trader Joe's for some provisions for the evening and headed home.  T and I hosted a pizza party for our wonderful guests, so that lots of their Boston friends could see them all at once.  I made eight pizza crusts, set them all out on the counter to rise (it's very warm in my kitchen this time of year), and put my stone in the oven.  It was a bit of a rush to get the house straightened up and the pizza prepped, but T is a great helper and it was a screaming success.

Pizzas we made (two of each): 

Salami with chunky tomatoes and Parmesan cheese

Wilted arugula with crumbled sausage, olive oil, and fresh Parmesan cheese

Garlic Scape pesto with peppers, zuccini and onions

Onion pizza with prosciutto, fresh sage, pepper, and olive oil

Deliciousness.

Sunday... T and I headed to Plum Island beach with a big group of friends.  We brought bread from Clear Flour, truffle salami, fresh fruit, veggies and hummus, homemade pickles, and I made a tuna salad (with artichokes and capers) for sammiches.  We had lots of water, happy beach towels, and much fun with our friends.  I went in the water (all the way in!) three times!  You see, I grew up surrounded by swimming pools, where you can always see the bottom and where there are no large living things in the water.  I was quite impressed with myself.  I had loads of fun.  We're totally going again this summer. Maybe every weekend :)

Plum Tuckered Out

And that was our weekend.. Our guests left Monday morning and T and I went to work.  Now I'm spending the week recovering from all the fun I had :) It's a good exhaustion! 

Flipped!

I made this cake for dessert last Friday, because figs are in season, and I have to have them!

We had two dear couples over to stay with us for the weekend and we made sushi together.  This cake wasn't quite a traditional finish to a sushi dinner, but it sure was tasty :) I totally flipped for it!




Spiced Fig Upside Down Cake
adapted from this document

Ingredients:
2 T coconut oil, melted
3 T brown sugar
10 medium fresh Black Mission figs, halved

1 1/2 c flour
2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp ground allspice
1/8 tsp salt
1/3 c butter, softened
1/2 c brown sugar (not packed)
1/2 c light molasses
2 large eggs, white separated
1/2 c milk
1 tsp vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 9" round cake pan with cooking spray and coat bottom of pan with melted butter.  Sprinkle 3 T brown sugar evenly over butter.  Arrange fig halves, cut side down, in the pan. Set aside.

Batter  Sift dry ingredients together in mixing bowl. In separate bowl, cream together butter and brown sugar. Add molasses and egg yolks and beat well.  Add milk and vanilla until incorporated.  Add wet to dry, gently mixing until just combined.

Beat egg whites in separate bowl until stiff peaks form.  Gently fold egg whites into batter. Spoon batter evenly over figs  in cake pan.

Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean.

Cool cake for 15 minutes on wire rack (very important! If you don't let the cake cool, it will fall apart when you try to take it out.  But don't let it cool too long or the brown sugar on the bottom might stick too much).

Loosen cake from sides of pan with spatula.  Place serving plate upside down on top of cake pan.  Holding cake plan and plate together with both hands, flip it all upside down.  The cake pan might need some tapping to get the cake to come all the way out.

Serves 10.

Also, side note: this cake is really easy to make vegan!  I used Ener-G Egg Replacer no problem (following the instructions on the box for egg yolks and whites respectively) and I used shortening instead of butter--but a margarine substitute would work as well.  Super tasty!