On feelings and flames.

A few days ago I was looking around my home office, the room I have spent most of the last two months in and it’s looking like I’ll probably spend the next six, and wondered why on earth I spend most of my time in a room that gets no sunlight.  I then set off on the task of moving several large pieces of furniture myself, thankfully aided by the smooth tile floor, and a few hours and only one major ding in a wall later I had set up what has quickly become my most favorite room in my house.  It’s light and airy and has a fireplace I hadn’t ever used, and on these chilly winter nights I thought a fire sounded right nice, even if it meant I had to clean out the fireplace afterward. 

And for whatever reason, the last few days have felt transformed.  Somehow evenings spent watching a fire and cuddling my Jay and reading or writing or just thinking are fulfilling in an opposite way to how evenings without a fire left me feeling restless and unproductive.

So this is who we are now, Jay and I. 

And as I stare at the flames consuming the wood and paper and oxygen, I’m grieving and wondering and asking and hoping and raging and speechless. 

To steal a line from a friend: 2020, you ain’t cute.

I know I don’t need to explain why.

And I’m wondering what I should say, or share, or post, or do; then I think, my voice is not the one the world needs right now, and with cases skyrocketing in South Africa the place I belong is here, by the fire.

But I know this for sure – I want to be a better anti-racist.  And my friends of color tell me the first step is just to listen and learn.  So I’m going to do that.  And white friends, I recommend you do the same.  I have big thoughts and feelings and opinions and emotions about all of it but the world does not need another white lady spouting off her opinions into the universe.  So I’m going to keep learning.  And I’m going to vote.  And I’m going to send financial support. And I’m going to stare at the flames, and cuddle my dog, and pray for justice, and love, and mercy, and hope, and peace.

On Baking and Breaking, part 2.

This upside down world is hard to navigate.  Lockdown is grating and lonely, keeping motivation up to accomplish anything besides binge watching whatever I can find on one of the streaming platforms is a challenge. However, one of the things I’ve found that helps is baking, and I’m enjoying the challenge!  Part of the challenge is I can't always get everything I need here, part of it is using what materials I already have (i.e. I don't have a mixer so everything is kneaded by hand... I don't have a rolling pin but a wine bottle works great!) And also? My oven is tiny. I'd say a quarter the size of a regular American oven. So things can get tight! 

Buttermilk biscuits made with kefir instead of buttermilk. 

Now I’ve gotten really good at bagels and English muffins, I’ve also done baguettes, biscuits, and a variety of sweet breads and cookies. This last weekend I tried what felt like the ultimate baking challenge: Croissants and pain au chocolate. (they are the same dough, just rolled differently with chocolate in one of them).

Croissants that would rival any bakery in France. 

They’re not a lot of work, but they take a significant time investment.  Here’s the recipe I used: https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/homemade-croissants/ 

English muffins are good but a pain, I think I will try English muffin bread next.

Honestly the whole time I thought for sure these are going to fail, so when they turned out a million times better than I could ever imagine, I was shocked and awed and really excited.

Sesame bagels - I'll def make these forever.

And when I post photos I get fun comments like “you might have missed your calling!” and “maybe a bakery is in your future” – which I’d like to respond to.  They’re sweet comments and I appreciate the heart behind them, but really? I don’t love it, I haven’t found my inner passion or calling in puff pastry and bread dough.  It’s just something to pass the time, and I need a new challenge every so often and this is one I can do at home. 

Pain au chocolat - same recipe as Croissants (above) just shaped differently with a chopped up bar of chocolate.  Next time (if there is ever a next time, no promises) I would use 70 or 60% dark chocolate, this time I used 80% and it was a little too bitter)

It’s funny, in another convo this week someone asked how old I am and I said 39 and she asked if I was going to have a crisis at 40 like so many women.  I’ve thought about the convo a lot, and I realize that’s a common occurrence, but my answer to her is that I think that happens when a woman looks at her life and realizes it’s not what she hoped and dreamed it would be.  And I look at my life and I think, it’s exactly what I hoped and dreamed it would be.  I’m in my dream job, I get to travel the world, making a difference and experiencing new cultures and trying new things, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds. 

Baguettes, didn't turn out quite as crispy as I wanted but I will try again.

And that’s kind of what I think about baking, too. It’s another challenge, like learning Spanish last year or surfing or trying a new job or field or focus.  This is just how I roll, it’s not my hopes and dreams coming to fruition.  I’ve already got that, in my regular life.  Quarantine has just forced me to be creative in a different way than normal – in the chemistry of the kitchen. 

Next week? I think I’m going to try old-fashioned doughnuts or macarons.  Or both.  Who knows, it seems like we’ll have plenty of time! Any other baking challenge suggestions?  Send them my way!!

My Favorite Place.

As I look back at my life, and where my journey has taken me, I can feel nothing but gratitude. I’ve had the privilege and the honor of traveling the globe and experienced some pretty incredible places.  Lemurs in Madagascar, bioluminescence in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, sloths in Costa Rica, surfing in Hawaii, castles in Romania, hiking the Pyrenees, penguins in Cape Town, the list could take up pages.  It’s truly awesome. 

People often ask me what’s my favorite place in the world? In all my travels, if I could go back to one place, what would it be?

Here.

This little white cabin in central Minnesota.  The Lake.  The place where the vast majority of my favorite childhood memories happened.

I grew up spending summers here, right in between two lakes, with a road full of cousins to play with and adventures to imagine and games to share and turtles to catch and paint and release back into the lake. It’s where auntie Kathy would whistle when it was time for dinner and we’d come from wherever we were and fit around the big table on the screened porch and tell Nana to stop fretting, there’s plenty of food.  We’d celebrate birthdays and open gifts and pile back around the table in the evening to play Tripoley or Seven Up or some other big group game. We’d live in the lake when it was hot, leaving wet splotches and sand when we came into the house for a snack, usually the cut fresh fruit Mom would leave on the counter. The mosquitoes were huge and the thunderstorms loud and the sunsets were beautiful, and we’d fall asleep to the sounds of the loons calling from one lake to another.

We’d have friends visit every year, and the kids would play dress up and put on a show for the adults. We’d go to Paul Bunyan, the local amusement park for kids where the giant statue of Paul would greet each child by name as they walked in the park and it was magical, every single time. There was sailboats and paddleboats and fishing boats and all number of floaties and tubes and toys to play with in the lake. There were turtle races and mini doughnuts and riding on the mechanical horse in front of the The Totem Pole. We’d ask auntie Kathy to help us pull out our loose teeth; she had a magic touch that somehow made it painless.  Uncle Dan would take us for rides on his motorcycle or in the boat or pull us on the tubes or water skis; uncle Peter would throw us around in the water like toys. There would be sweet rolls for breakfast and hamburgers on the grill for dinner and I’m sure it wasn’t wonderful all the time, but looking back on it, all I can remember was the magic of it all.

If the world weren’t upside down, it would be a full house there now; Memorial day weekend, the first long weekend of summer, when the nights were still cool but the days were finally free of the snow boots and coats and hats and mittens that are the norm for the long, long cold winter.  I’d miss my Nana fretting over food but relish in the joy of the next generation of kiddos enjoying it every bit as much as I did as a kid. I planned to go home to Minnesota in August this year, intending to spend at least a week at The Lake, and I’m grieving the loss of the magical time with family that won’t happen this year.  I can only hold on to hope that next year will be different.  In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy the memories and the magic and the gift of The Lake, my favorite place in the world.

On bad days and good.

I really should write on the good days.

They do exist.

They are the days that are filled with the smell of baking bread and the feel of dirt under my fingernails from digging in the garden and grass clippings stuck to the hem of my yoga pants and a good movie and a cuddle with my Jay.  Or they are days with dedicated space to creating and dreaming and strategizing new and different ways to improve our programs and impact on those we are serving.  Or they are days where everyone collaborates in the meetings and it feels like finally we may have gotten over the hump of ‘new boss’ and realized we’re all in this together, longing to make the world a little bit better today and tomorrow and every day that is yet to come.  Or maybe they are days that aren’t that magical, but end with an online happy hour where I feel seen and heard and understood and not quite so desperately lonely. 

Those are the good days.  And there are many.

And today is not one of them. 

Today I woke up feeling the anxiety and the panic that comes with an exponential increase in cases yesterday and the searing knowledge within that travel in 2020 is effectively finished.   My sister made a comment on something I posted about the fact that science has become political and while I knew that, for some reason those words this morning sent me into a spiral of grief for the America I was once proud to call my home.  I’m wondering how long we will be without Volunteers and if we’ll get them back at all and what that means for my job that has been and still is my dream job.  I worry about my family and friends and humanity, as this drags on and the clinically-careful attention to prevention starts to wane as restlessness and frustration begin to take over.  I watch from the sidelines as others refuse to collaborate and argue about minutia.  And then I spent what felt like hours on the phone with the IRS, who is holding my 2018 return hostage, only to find out they are entirely dependent on the US Postal Service and there’s nothing I can do, no alternatives to be found, no electronic options, I have to just wait and wait for the letter to be delivered and then wait another few months for the next letter to be delivered while at the same time our dear President thinks the USPS should be to be defunded entirely.  It’s ludicrous.

I want hugs, and in-person meetings, and happy hours with friends, and a trip to the grocery store or the mall without anxiety, and a travel schedule, and a week at the cabin, and a trip to the beach, and my 2018 tax return, and Volunteers, even the ones that drive me batty.

And now that I’ve had my mini temper tantrum of I want I want, I’ll brush myself off, feed myself something healthy, and get on with my day. Because none of this is how it is supposed to be, and I keep telling myself it’s okay to grieve and rage and cry and all the things… as long as I don’t stay there.

Here’s some photos that make me smile:

Baguettes made at home. I didn't get the really crunchy crust I was looking for but I'll try again. 

My soulmate.

Signs of winter.  Most leaves don't change color, they just dry up and fall. 

A little friend on my passion fruit vine

Another baking adventure, they turned out amazing. 

After our morning walk we will sit on the patio, me with my coffee, and he will fall asleep... this is his face when I say his name, I imagine he's thinking "what you want, woman? I sleepin' here...."

On sunrises and carbs.

Well hello there.

It’s been about seven weeks, I guess, since the world turned upside down and fell to pieces around us. I’ve gotten really, really good at making bagels, my English muffins are pretty good, and I’m considering trying to make baguettes tomorrow.  

Sesame bagels

We’re moving into winter, the days are getting shorter, the nights chilly, and the sunrises beautiful.  For the first five weeks of lockdown, we weren’t allowed to walk dogs or run outside; thankfully, a week ago they began to allow walking and running between the hours of 6-9am, so Jay and I have enjoyed sunrise coffee on a walk instead of on the patio.  It's a nice reminder that the sun rises every single day, time keeps moving forward, and travel bans and isolation won't be forever.