At last a real break and not just a neglectful one.
Time for really fresh fruit and picnics and bodies of water.
I'll be back in August.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Pray to End Hunger
That's what the sidewalk-chalked entrance to the prayer labyrinth said.
"Pray to end hunger."
We went to the ballpark for church on Sunday in what may be a new tradition for our congregation. Our Christian Education coordinator used to work for our local minor-league team and has a great affection for baseball, so using her connections last year, our pastor got to be the "starting preacher" for the day. We returned this year, with a few more folks from a few more congregations, and another chance to support our local food bank.
On the lines that traced the labyrinth, we placed rows of canned goods and boxes of pasta.
We're headed out of town soon for a trek west, so on Saturday we shopped lightly for the few days we're here. Jonathan wondered when I started piling the boxes of on-sale noodles in the cart--since noodles aren't much on the menu these days, anyway--and then he recalled the food drive as part of Sunday worship, too. I also had a chance to get to the back of the pantry, which I try to do every couple of months, to pull out the things that have been languishing (again, a bit more than usual since I've adjusted to the new restrictions) and add them to the offerings.
So as the photographer from the local paper tried to snap pictures of her in her pink hat and new glasses, Jo got to line up pineapple and salad dressing and pizza sauce in the "maze" that people were walking through, reflecting on the plenty that so many of us have right in our own kitchens, praying and learning how to share, so that all may be fed.
"Pray to end hunger."
We went to the ballpark for church on Sunday in what may be a new tradition for our congregation. Our Christian Education coordinator used to work for our local minor-league team and has a great affection for baseball, so using her connections last year, our pastor got to be the "starting preacher" for the day. We returned this year, with a few more folks from a few more congregations, and another chance to support our local food bank.
On the lines that traced the labyrinth, we placed rows of canned goods and boxes of pasta.
We're headed out of town soon for a trek west, so on Saturday we shopped lightly for the few days we're here. Jonathan wondered when I started piling the boxes of on-sale noodles in the cart--since noodles aren't much on the menu these days, anyway--and then he recalled the food drive as part of Sunday worship, too. I also had a chance to get to the back of the pantry, which I try to do every couple of months, to pull out the things that have been languishing (again, a bit more than usual since I've adjusted to the new restrictions) and add them to the offerings.
So as the photographer from the local paper tried to snap pictures of her in her pink hat and new glasses, Jo got to line up pineapple and salad dressing and pizza sauce in the "maze" that people were walking through, reflecting on the plenty that so many of us have right in our own kitchens, praying and learning how to share, so that all may be fed.
Monday, July 14, 2014
What's for Dinner?
The company that collects our trash and recycling has "points" to earn for pounds of recycling each week. These points can be redeemed for a variety of coupons (most of which are useless to me) and free magazine subscriptions (a self-perpetuating system, if you will). So, I subscribe to a variety of home and garden and cooking magazines--all aspirational, I assure you--and each month I review the steady stream of tips about exercise plans and organizing my house and planning my meals.
Planning my meals? Who does that?
But since every month at least one of these magazines finds the advice useful for someone out there, I contemplate it briefly, and promptly ignore it.
Planning meals at my house means keeping a (relatively complete) running tally of what's in the fridge and freezer in my head at any given moment and knowing that we can go out for dinner on Friday night since by then there's precious little left (Saturday morning is shopping day, as you know).
Planning meals means picking up the kids from daycare and preschool and asking "what should we do for dinner?" (Lately, Jo's answer has been "pot roast," which is not particularly helpful at 4:47 when we need to eat dinner by 5:30 in order to get out the door for Dad's concert by 7:00.) It means getting in the door, finding any necessary snacks to stave off complete collapses in blood sugar (we not always quite quick enough on that, but somehow we all survive) and turning on a DVD with Dad while Mom escapes to the kitchen to figure something out.
But this system works for us. Some nights are more put together than others, and sometimes I even feel accomplished in finding and using the resources at hand. Some nights it is more eclectic and crowd-pleasing: turkey bratwurst, the end of the tater tot bag, edamame, and the remains of the snow peas from the farmer's market. Matt got to have peas, too, trying them for the second time in the schedule of green and orange vegetables.
And then there's others--frozen tamales with farmer's market asparagus or oatmeal with an edamame and grapes chaser.
Maybe there's something to this meal-planning thing.
Planning my meals? Who does that?
But since every month at least one of these magazines finds the advice useful for someone out there, I contemplate it briefly, and promptly ignore it.
Planning meals at my house means keeping a (relatively complete) running tally of what's in the fridge and freezer in my head at any given moment and knowing that we can go out for dinner on Friday night since by then there's precious little left (Saturday morning is shopping day, as you know).
Planning meals means picking up the kids from daycare and preschool and asking "what should we do for dinner?" (Lately, Jo's answer has been "pot roast," which is not particularly helpful at 4:47 when we need to eat dinner by 5:30 in order to get out the door for Dad's concert by 7:00.) It means getting in the door, finding any necessary snacks to stave off complete collapses in blood sugar (we not always quite quick enough on that, but somehow we all survive) and turning on a DVD with Dad while Mom escapes to the kitchen to figure something out.
But this system works for us. Some nights are more put together than others, and sometimes I even feel accomplished in finding and using the resources at hand. Some nights it is more eclectic and crowd-pleasing: turkey bratwurst, the end of the tater tot bag, edamame, and the remains of the snow peas from the farmer's market. Matt got to have peas, too, trying them for the second time in the schedule of green and orange vegetables.
And then there's others--frozen tamales with farmer's market asparagus or oatmeal with an edamame and grapes chaser.
Maybe there's something to this meal-planning thing.
Monday, June 30, 2014
What I Get.
Many people's initial reaction when I mention my new diet (and, let's face it, I've mentioned it to just about everyone in the last six weeks or so, including total strangers) is "What do you eat?!" Frankly, it was my first reaction, too.
But if my narrative of late has been the narrative of "no wheat, dairy, or eggs" (to the extent that Jo has also taken it upon herself to inform strangers that "Mom is allergic to wheat, dairy, and eggs"), it has also become a narrative of unsuffering sacrifice. Ribs instead of a burger. Sushi instead of a sandwich.
I made a fantastic batch of granola last week that I'm not sure I would have happened upon were it not for the new diet. And I've returned to an old affection for vanilla soy milk. Berries and watermelon and peaches and nectarines. Soon we'll be home in the Pacific Northwest before cherry season is over. I can hardly wait. Roast chicken. Olives. Hummus and tahini, salsa and chutney. I am not suffering, I assure you.
Last night I tossed together one of my new favorite desserts that will linger long after this phase has passed me by, Coconut Polenta Cake. Indeed, the sacrifice is small, and the limitation renews my creativity as every good artist learns when muddling with a new medium.
Good Granola
Wet Ingredients (mix together)
1/2 c. unsweetened applesauce
1/4 c. canola oil
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/4 c. honey
2 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. salt
1 Tb. Penzey's Baking Spice (or good cinnamon)
Dry Ingredients
3 c. rolled oats
1 c. steel cut oats
1 c. nuts (slivered almonds are my choice)
Mix together dry ingredients and pour wet ingredients over, stirring until evenly coated. Press onto parchment-lined rimmed sheet pan and bake at 300 degrees for 25 minutes. Stir, and continue to bake at 10-15 minute increments, stirring in between, until golden brown. Store in air-tight container. Frankly, I don't know how long this will keep, since it never lasts me as long as it should.
But if my narrative of late has been the narrative of "no wheat, dairy, or eggs" (to the extent that Jo has also taken it upon herself to inform strangers that "Mom is allergic to wheat, dairy, and eggs"), it has also become a narrative of unsuffering sacrifice. Ribs instead of a burger. Sushi instead of a sandwich.
I made a fantastic batch of granola last week that I'm not sure I would have happened upon were it not for the new diet. And I've returned to an old affection for vanilla soy milk. Berries and watermelon and peaches and nectarines. Soon we'll be home in the Pacific Northwest before cherry season is over. I can hardly wait. Roast chicken. Olives. Hummus and tahini, salsa and chutney. I am not suffering, I assure you.
Last night I tossed together one of my new favorite desserts that will linger long after this phase has passed me by, Coconut Polenta Cake. Indeed, the sacrifice is small, and the limitation renews my creativity as every good artist learns when muddling with a new medium.
Good Granola
Wet Ingredients (mix together)
1/2 c. unsweetened applesauce
1/4 c. canola oil
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/4 c. honey
2 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. salt
1 Tb. Penzey's Baking Spice (or good cinnamon)
Dry Ingredients
3 c. rolled oats
1 c. steel cut oats
1 c. nuts (slivered almonds are my choice)
Mix together dry ingredients and pour wet ingredients over, stirring until evenly coated. Press onto parchment-lined rimmed sheet pan and bake at 300 degrees for 25 minutes. Stir, and continue to bake at 10-15 minute increments, stirring in between, until golden brown. Store in air-tight container. Frankly, I don't know how long this will keep, since it never lasts me as long as it should.
Coconut Polenta Cake
Preheat oven to 350.
Whisk together 1 can light coconut milk, 3/4 c. cornmeal, 1 tsp. salt, and 1/2 c. sugar.
Pour into greased 9x9 pan, top with a generous handful of fresh or frozen raspberries.
Bake 40-45 minutes until set.
Cool to room temperature and slice.
Also good chilled (that is, for breakfast).
Pour into greased 9x9 pan, top with a generous handful of fresh or frozen raspberries.
Bake 40-45 minutes until set.
Cool to room temperature and slice.
Also good chilled (that is, for breakfast).
What I Miss.
- Bread.
- Fried eggs.
- Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies.
- Cheese. Yes, cheese, Gromit.
- Did I say bread?
- Restaurant Menus.
- Milk.
- Licking the spoon. Or my fingers.
- Evening up the edges.
- Stroganoff.
- Scrambled eggs.
- Communion bread.
- Toast.
- Cheese samples.
- Yogurt.
- Bread samples.
- MorMor's Fruit Cobbler.
- Mindless eating. (Okay, it's probably good I've given this one up.)
- Pizza.
- Cheese.
- And bread.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Faithfulness
Taking up a new habit such as this (rather dramatic, if I may say) shift in my diet has only been possible so far with a daily commitment. That is, each day I commit to eating this way, today. I ask no more than that of myself.
In the past week, however, I have read two distinct blog posts both from faithful and wise friends who advise, conversely, to make some long-term plans that might serve as a guiding star for one's life, and to acknowledge the immediacy of each day--even each moment--in the reminder that in tomorrow, life might be entirely changed.
How to balance this tension? How to make a commitment that is only one day long and nonetheless call it a commitment?
These questions lead me to think about the double meaning of faith and faithfulness. On the one hand, we speak of faithfulness as a steady commitment over time. To keep faith with someone is to endure. To walk. To live. To entrust. Faithfulness is not fleeting. On the other hand, to live in faith is to step into the unknown moment. To move into the realm of unseen things. To trust. Faith reaches toward the future, uncertain of all that lies ahead.
I often tell my students (and remind myself) that I am a person of faith. I don't know how they understand the term, but when I say that, I mean to speak the double meaning of faith. I am a person of commitment and consistency (overmuch, perhaps some would say) and at the same time, I endeavor to cast my lot into the unknown stretching out before me.
Of course, what I also mean to say when I announce that I am a person of faith is that I do not and cannot dwell in this faith alone. It is a gift from God, and it is sustained by the community of faith that surrounds me. This faith is ultimately the food that I eat. It is the blessing of God realized in bread and wine (even, though they are dreadful in a way I had not anticipated, gluten-free wafers) that becomes my life.
Past and future. Surrounding and within. Received and given.
Passing up pizza for a time hardly seems like an act of faith, particularly given the real sufferings the world has to distribute among God's children, but the daily choices of what and how I eat have a way of getting my attention. So I am grateful for the faith given to me and hope, for today, that I will live it out on behalf of others, or at least one other.
Amen.
In the past week, however, I have read two distinct blog posts both from faithful and wise friends who advise, conversely, to make some long-term plans that might serve as a guiding star for one's life, and to acknowledge the immediacy of each day--even each moment--in the reminder that in tomorrow, life might be entirely changed.
How to balance this tension? How to make a commitment that is only one day long and nonetheless call it a commitment?
These questions lead me to think about the double meaning of faith and faithfulness. On the one hand, we speak of faithfulness as a steady commitment over time. To keep faith with someone is to endure. To walk. To live. To entrust. Faithfulness is not fleeting. On the other hand, to live in faith is to step into the unknown moment. To move into the realm of unseen things. To trust. Faith reaches toward the future, uncertain of all that lies ahead.
I often tell my students (and remind myself) that I am a person of faith. I don't know how they understand the term, but when I say that, I mean to speak the double meaning of faith. I am a person of commitment and consistency (overmuch, perhaps some would say) and at the same time, I endeavor to cast my lot into the unknown stretching out before me.
Of course, what I also mean to say when I announce that I am a person of faith is that I do not and cannot dwell in this faith alone. It is a gift from God, and it is sustained by the community of faith that surrounds me. This faith is ultimately the food that I eat. It is the blessing of God realized in bread and wine (even, though they are dreadful in a way I had not anticipated, gluten-free wafers) that becomes my life.
Past and future. Surrounding and within. Received and given.
Passing up pizza for a time hardly seems like an act of faith, particularly given the real sufferings the world has to distribute among God's children, but the daily choices of what and how I eat have a way of getting my attention. So I am grateful for the faith given to me and hope, for today, that I will live it out on behalf of others, or at least one other.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Eating in a New Way
When the pediatrician suggested we run some allergy tests to see if we could help Matt's itchiness and dry skin, I said a quick prayer that it wouldn't turn up a dairy allergy.
When the nurse called a few days later, she told me that it was, in fact, wheat . . . and eggs . . . and dairy . . . and peanuts.
Oooof.
My first inclination was that he'd be switching to formula right away. But then I remembered how expensive formula is--especially the allergy-safe formula. So I decided to take it one day at a time. So far, more than a month later, I'm still sticking with it. At least for today.
I did allow myself to go shopping right away for some alternative ingredients to have on hand, and I immediately proved to myself that I could still make and eat treats by whipping up a batch of rice crispy treats and eating almost the whole pan.
So now I'm a gluten-free, meat-eating vegan who is the obnoxious person pestering waitstaff with questions.
I've also gotten to read a whole host of interesting cookbooks I wouldn't have otherwise touched.
And I'm still eating pretty well.
When the nurse called a few days later, she told me that it was, in fact, wheat . . . and eggs . . . and dairy . . . and peanuts.
Oooof.
My first inclination was that he'd be switching to formula right away. But then I remembered how expensive formula is--especially the allergy-safe formula. So I decided to take it one day at a time. So far, more than a month later, I'm still sticking with it. At least for today.
I did allow myself to go shopping right away for some alternative ingredients to have on hand, and I immediately proved to myself that I could still make and eat treats by whipping up a batch of rice crispy treats and eating almost the whole pan.
So now I'm a gluten-free, meat-eating vegan who is the obnoxious person pestering waitstaff with questions.
I've also gotten to read a whole host of interesting cookbooks I wouldn't have otherwise touched.
And I'm still eating pretty well.
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