snow laden foxgloves

It feels unfair. Leaves still on trees, foxgloves blooming, rose bushes with opening buds and yet pillows of snow on every leaf, every blossom. I didn't expect this, and so it has caught me by surprise. In the midst of my growing grief this has taken my breath away like an unexpected blow across the face. Undeniable, I reach for my scarf and winter coat. For the past months the weather has been saving grace in my life. I felt a kinship with the untidiness of my garden and it flourished without human direction. Since closing my office in Bryn Mawr I have felt a sense of loss of that dream of the" Wellness Collective". It was such a lovely idea to have a group of practitioners working in the same space, offering services to enhance and maintain wellness. It was an idea worth working toward. Investing our hearts and our time we just couldn't sustain it for long enough to pay the bills. I'm not sure where to go from here...There is value in pausing for a moment and allowing the journey to unfold in it's own time. And so, I remind myself to trust the process, to be the process and to savour this period of incubation, or relaxation, enjoying my free time to catch up on accounts, take a long walk, and day dream. My life has changed so much and so quickly over the past six years that I haven't had a chance to adjust or integrate the new opportunities I have been offered. I remember the fall 25 years ago, with an undiagnosed, ruptured ectopic pregnancy: the pain, and recovery. The realization that I had experienced a near death episode and the second chance I had received with wonder and delight. My determination to devote myself to parenthood and my ignorance about what that might bring over the course of my life. I'm still not sure, but I have a sense of the cycles, with the surprises like this morning. Waking up to snow covered flowers, something of the poppy scene from Wizard of Oz. Perhaps this will wake me up to the fleeting responsibilities of parenthood and the changes occurring over the next months. And the possibility of each day, each conversation being the last. 

plum jam

Growing up in southern Minnesota had it's pleasures. We had plum trees laden with fruit which were made into plum jelly and jam to last through the winter. We had no sense of what a treasure those jars contained. And now I search specialty stores for a similar product. The price tag slows me down, yet the flavor of rich ripe plums on a scone from Rustica Bakery takes me back to the few pleasures of my childhood. We were poor and many, yet we had what we needed for the most part. And as a popular and available babysitter I had a little stash of my own personal funds to turn to when I found something I didn't want to live without... Like my guitar. Purchased in New Ulm for around $100 it was a ticket to another world. A world of independence and charm, popular music, classical, flamenco, and funny improvisations. It was a place where I could escape my younger sibling encroaching my territory. No privacy, only chaos. With tension an underlying element of my parents relationship I grew up thinking that was the way all marriages worked. It was a mark of success. However it is simply a mark of having successfully duplicated the model I observed. I graduated from high school vowing to never marry. To never enter into that contract which would rob me of my personal identity, compromise my values and tempt me into a submissive role where I would shrink and cower like so many of my female ancestors.

rainy saturday

Am I in love? With someone besides myself? Am I in love with myself? Will I ever manage to love myself in all my aspects? All the different parts of myself that I try to hide from the world, and especially from my kids, and especially from myself. The fat parts, the aging parts, the ugliness, the horrible thoughts of self-doubt, second guessing as if there was a right answer and I had missed it. In an unexpected conversation, this unexpected question: am I in love? I wonder if she meant am I living with someone. Or perhaps: am I in an exclusive intimate relationship with someone. It's a common question, yet I wonder what is behind it. Is it am I identified as being in a relationship, or am I identified as a partner, identified as my partner whomever that might be...and what the partner does. I felt obligated to answer. As I felt obligated to attend a social function this evening. After realizing that I didn't want to go, and that my internal conversation was bullying me towards going with great reluctance, and out of a sense of obligation, I stopped. I gave myself permission to skip it, without an excuse or explanation. So I walked through the back garden and lingered in the cool rain listening to a distant cardinal checking out for the night. He wasn't going anywhere either, and he wasn't shaming and blaming himself either. I noticed the progression of my birch tree changing color. She knows it's time to prepare for winter and just does it, no nonsense, no questions, no mind games. Perhaps I can learn a lesson from her natural wisdom. Perhaps I have and I'm not giving myself credit for it. I keep those less attractive parts of myself in a glass jar and when I hear their voices chipping away at my self esteem, my confidence I put the lid on to take the volume down a bit. The truth is that after many years of anorexic type behavior, compulsive exercise, attempting to conform to cultural expectations, and approaching dance from the stereotyped definition of a dancer, my goal is to be well nourished  with nutritious food. My somewhat compulsive work habits are becoming more relaxed as I am less interested in my role as a rescuer. My financial status stable and I have discovered a growing trust in my ability to generate revenue I live in a growing abundance which replaces my identification with the word poor. I have not abandoned myself: I am successfully thriving. I appear to be learning from my mistakes. When I choose to spend time alone I don't feel isolated. I give myself permission to be less than perfect, to practice detaching in non violent ways without beating myself up for needing to learn new or more advanced, effective skills. I'm entitled to enjoy the fruits of my labor. I can say "yes" to my life even when it means saying "no" to someone else. 

chocolate and kiwi

And Jasmine tea. I have been haunted by the chevre cheesecake from Rustica. Each time I return, hoping to meet it again, I find other selections available, but nothing comparable to the cheesecake. On inquiry I learned that they cycle through their dessert selections every 3 months. It seems like an awfully long time to wait...I googled for a recipe, but nothing quite the same as the creation living in my memory. There are so many variations of the chocolate tart and after a fashion they all begin to taste the same. I am eating more Zespri kiwis to strengthen my immune system. And the combination of the chocolate and crunchy fruit was satisfying. Complex. Worth pursuing, but....always "but." I kept imagining the kiwis with the chevre cheesecake. And frustration set in. I've put myself on the waiting list, requested the recipe, and notification when it is next available. Worst case senario: I will ask to special order one for Sunday brunch. Until then the photo must sufice. 

http://www.rusticabakery.com/menu.php

Brunch

Sunday brunch has come to be a high point of my week. All events lead to this one meal. We've tried many venues with great success but decided to give it a try at home. Adam exchanges his services for massage time, which supports his running recovery and I provide the ingredients. We limit the budget somewhat and come up with a menu as if we were offering it for a catering. I invite guests, let him know the numbers shop with him if appropriate and sit down at 11:30, ready to relax and enjoy. Maggie and Gabe, Jonathon, Adam and I shared this arrangement of fresh figs,  Zespri

Kiwi, and St Andre. It was bliss. The nutty seeds of the fruit and the triple cream of the cheese were a perfect compliment to the more savory selections. Individual blue cheese and green onion quiches, cucumber and chevre sandwiches, and scones preceded the fruit and cheese. Jonathon brought an Indian desert and real chai tea. It was an experiment worth repeating and the goal is simply to get together and share ideas, and stories, and relax. Try new ideas, and not create a lot of stress around eating and food. Last Sunday we ended up at Grand Cafe eating Eggs Cocotte. Always fantastic also a little pricey. So we will try to get the recipe and the ramekins, and do it here for ourselves. It is my idea of luxury to have a personal chef, even if it is only for one meal. And as I am still working 6 days a week, this Sunday commitment is part of my self care routine. So far it is working.  As important as the food is the conversation. And our conversation today led me back tho the memory of the first time I read "Gabriela, Clove and Cinnamon". I moved back from beautiful Napa Valley, post divorce, having lost an important friendship, I was experiencing some anger and grief. Cynical, feeling unlovable, my failure inescapable Jorge Amado and his lovely characters came into my life and seduced me back. They convinced me that love triumphs. endures, and finds a way. So when my Brazilian friend spoke about his country, and particularly the area of Bahia, the longing cam flooding back. We discussed going  there together. To be continued...

turtle flower

A lovely creature, looks like a member of the dragon flower family. I was drawn to it immediately as it seems so happy in the shade and not all of them are so content to be in limited light. Something of a wallflower, I guess. Next year they will grace my humble garden and that is something to look forward to during the cold and frosty winter. The seasons are so dramatic here, yet it doesn't seem to bother the flowers, they just nod their heads and smile. Their confidence is inspiring, yet it doesn't seem to be contagious. I wish to possess such incredible trust and security. Never second guessing themselves, they bloom where they are planted, without a lot of fuss or demands. On the other hand, I have become high maintenance, constantly seeking reassurance that I am acceptable, and loved, if not by me then by someone wiser with more prestige or notoriety. Someone with a touch phone of one kind or another. I am going through a whiny phase, I'm not sure why, I'm not sure if it matters why...It's just there and I'm trying not to pay too much attention or give it too much air time. Station KFKD is so busy handling requests from other listeners that they really don't need my song and dance. It's impossible to be in the flow when you are busy complaining about it. Too cold, too hot, too fast, too big, there is just no limit to noticing what something is not, and a huge distraction from what something actually is...and it's value...and it's meaning. And even then it's easy to stop and get all stuck in it and miss the movement of the musical phrase. Give those notes only the indicated value no more, and no less, without being seduced by the interpretation or the texture or the quality of the sound. Go for the big picture and your contribution to the tapestry. So it is with the turtle flower, up close it has individual grace and personality, distinct from the other varieties in the garden. But once it joins the chorus, it's power is magnified exponentially.

http://www.ehow.com/how_13994_grow-turtle-flower.html

chevre cheesecake

A creation of Rustica Bakery, served with fresh blackberries. Slightly sweet, definitely tangy and so creamy that you can't stop, or in most cases you won't want to stop. I wondered how it would taste with other berries, perhaps raspberries or huckleberries? The blackberries were not as flavourful as I imagined. They were layer on the sponge cake crust and garnished the top of the generous individual portion I purchased. I couldn't finish in one sitting, and my family helped devour the creation through out the day. The next day I decided to go "sugar free" just to see how I would feel. Would I have headaches? Uncontrollable cravings? It is the end of my second day. No headaches but unexpected depression and a feeling of failure, or deprivation, or sensory deviation. I just don't feel as happy as I did three days ago. And I'm beginning to wonder if this isn't more than a little too extreme.  I think of my friends sitting in LaDuree in Paris eating rose cream pastries and I wish I were with them. The longing, and the memory permeates my dreams and I wake to the new day determined to join them.  Imagining their surprise when I arrive, I brush my teeth. Planning what to pack, I drink my Jasmine tea. Greeting my first client, my fantasy slips away, simmering somewhere on the back burner, or stored in the freezer. I have bills to pay, appointments to honor, and a week in Arizona around the corner. Rose cream will wait, and in the meantime, there is Rustica.

marigolds

In a pot decorated with fish, petunias and marigolds co-exist. As we move into fall I am happy to have their hardy blooms in my life. Inspiring me to trust the wisdom of the unfolding universe. And to stop messing up with the flow of grace, to just allow the sun to rise and the moon set without stressing over my part in it's progress. Surely I can manage to stay out of the way, and participate by observing, by receiving. How hard could it be? For some of us active busybodies it is an effort of sheer strength and endurance. We are more comfortable jumping around, rescuing, adjusting, and re-arranging with delight and abandon. And where does it take us? Soon we are exhausted, depleted, and somewhat bewildered. Wondering how we arrived at this point, with a few regrets, and shattered dreams. Pausing, remember those marigolds growing with the petunias...not needing too much but simply soaking up the sun and waiting for moisture from whatever source appears. Until the cold arrives, and it is time to drop seeds and let go.

Jack in the Pulpit

I never knew what happened to Jack until Saturday. And now I can see how stunning he becomes...Perfect for a relatively moist shade garden. I was inspired to go back to my own little patch of dirt and clean it up. This was shortly before I read an e-mail from two college friends on their way to Paris. They had told me they were going. And they had told me the dates". And they had invited me along. I just didn't believe they were serious at the time and then I forgot about it, I made a vow I wouldn't travel before Christmas and put it out of my mind. Then last week I started reading about Messiaen's composition of "Quartet for the End of Time" and someone suggested I visit St Gervais in Paris to study chant, and I ate a lovely Chevre cheesecake that melted in my mouth and I thought of LaDuree and French cakes and I had Paris on my mind. And while my timing is off, I think I must go there soon. In the meantime, my nose is to the grindstone, while I hope I will end up with more than a bloody nose. I am tempted to go on sabbatical, but how would I be able to afford it? After all, I am not married to a doctor! Not that that is the only way to get to Paris, of course! And not that Paris is the only place I would like to go visit...However, first things first and that means Quartet for the End of Time: February 14th, 2010! First movement: nightingales and blackbirds, masks and wings!

franklin bakery

This was my 'hood when I moved back from San Fransisco. Ther was a 7-11 where the bakery now stands perfuming the air with the aromas of bread and pastries. It's not Buchon, and doesn't pretend to be anything close to it. There are no fancy french creations with hazelnut fillings. No eclairs, truffles or chocolate ganache. A carrot bread, cupcakes, brightly colored American cakes are always available. Merangues and macaroons which quickly disappear. Ho-hum cookies, nothing to dream about, somewhat plastic looking doughnuts. Not tempting, easy to pass up. But the pleasure of sitting in the sunshine in between clients cannot be measured. The perfect late summer day, a week before school starts, not a cloud in the sky. The breeze caressing your arms and shoulders gently, just enough to keep you interested. Just enough to make you wish for one more moment in the sun, with no demands, no questions, no responsibility but being here. Breath and smile. I can do that...with my eyes closed.

birthday princess

marzipan and cream: what could be more perfect on your 26th birthday? sleeping late? weather we dream about for 10 months of the year? flowers? friends cooking dinner together? dressing up? the celebration stretching out over 10 or more days? all this and more says "yes" to life. Live your life, if it isn't in your own backyard, you might have never really lost it in the first place. There is a little bit of Dorothy Gale in all of us. And that is helpful to remember when you hit a rough spot, a little temporary whitewater in the river of your life. When your daughter's a princess, that means you are a Queen. And you've got the privilege to rule, and with great privilege comes great responsibility.

She's always watching, always checking, always copying, practicing, re-assessing. Wondering how this works, what has been tried, what were the results. She remembers things that have faded form my memory long ago. Reminding me of a chance comment, a remark, a piece of advice. My hope, my dream is to one day be as wise as she sometimes thinks I am. And to always be as generous as we both deserve...which is unconditionally generous. If she had two lives she would give me one, it isn't a matter of half empty or half full. Overflowing, without measure, like Big Anthony and the pasta pot filling the whole village with freshly cooked, tasty noodles...My runaway bunny, I will come after you with my last breath. I had two lives, so I gave you one. Then I found that I still had two lives. So I gave one to your brother...My plan is that, when I am gone you will have each other.   

ponder, wonder

....dream. And dream some more: when I grow up. This is the beauty of living here and now: you can do anything you imagine if you are willing to make the effort. To do the work. Set a goal and move toward it. Ask for help. Ask for more help. Keep asking and be patient. Make a plan, break it down and approach each step with enthusiasm and determination. Like surfing, not the net, but real surfing, with the undertow and sharks. Finding your balance waiting for the wave, your wave, the one which will carry you back to the beach. And I will be watching you, celebrating your success.

post celebration

Something about the farm feels so safe, so familiar, even though it's not the same since my Uncle's death. It's not  a "working farm" like it was when I was a kid. Yet, there is something so reassuring walking out in the field of soybeans listening to them grow. Seeing those fuzzy bean pods hanging down like ornaments, earrings and knowing their story. Sensing the nitrogen moving into the soil and the nutrients moving into the beans. There is a sense of theprocess of photosynthesis making music with the sun. The air is filled with a loving presence as if there really are angels moving up and down the rows singing to the plants, "grow, my darlings, grow". It's not a real farm simply in the sense that it doesn't have to make money in the same way it did when my Aunt and Uncle first started out...There is a relaxed atmosphere as if it were a museum or an out-of-the-way theme park. You can walk in the fields of clover and look down to find a "cow-pie" as if it were treasure or memorabilia to be noticed, rather than avoided and shunned. I watched three young cousins hanging around on the trampoline, quietly chatting in the sunshine. They looked so blissful for the moment and pleased to have the time to spend in each other's company. While their elders relaxed on the front deck, waiting, wondering who will be next to cross over the threshold; to move to the next station. And how? Will it hurt? Will people cry, and remember?  Or shrug and forget...A couple of weeks ago I went out to dinner with my Dad. Inadvertently I selected a place that was a little pricier than I remembered. But he didn't seem to care. He said he considered that we were spending my money, since he was planning to give it to me anyway and that this way he could see what I spent it on, and enjoy it with me. It's the thing that really bothers him about dying: missing the party and seeing how his money is spent. It's important for me to remember him like this: generous and easy. And when I said good by, he held me fiercely, tightly and for a long time. Right in front of his widowed sisters. And I let him, maybe for the last time, because he's still here. And, sooner than I care to imagine, he won't be... 

scoliosis: exercise your options

Over 35 years of working in the fitness world it has been my privilege to work with numerous people aspiring to the goal of improving their quality of life . People interested in taking responsibility for their health, willing to consider and utilize the services available in the traditional medical community, and learn about their most recent scientific developments. Yet, they were, and are, willing to seek second opinions, and explore holistic approaches to healing and wellness. Many people have begun to recognize how our emotional lives affect the functions of our physical bodies, especially the immune system. In the past we have perceived the physician as a god-like figure, all knowing, infallible and benevolent. And in those “good old days”, scoliosis was frequently treated with spinal fusions, braces and body casts. There is increasing evidence, based on research, that both Pilates and Yoga are effective, non-invasive methods of retarding, and in many cases reversing the progression of this chronic spinal condition. The combination of gently extending, lengthening the spine, and strengthening the abdominal, back and pelvic floor muscles is the foundation of both pilates and yoga. These exercises counter act the effects of gravity and allow the spine to open and unwind. Scoliosis is more than a simple side to side curving of the spine it is actually a spiraling motion of the bones twisting in on themselves for no discernible reason. There are theories related to latent viral infections hiding dormant along the vertebrae. And speculation around emotional disturbances, perhaps abuse issues, domestic violence, intimidation a sense of the body attempting to protect itself. In any case there appears to be an emotional component which is important to consider and examine. It is common to find some degree of degeneration in the spine over the age of 30. We have developed habits of sitting for unhealthy lengths of time with minimal stretch breaks. Many of us are not properly hydrated and reach for water only after we notice we are thirsty. Even then we may chose carbonated, and/or caffeinated beverages, sometimes loaded with corn syrup, hardly the wisest choice. In the process of helping so many clients develop body awareness, increase sensitivity to structural weakness, improve balance and postural alignment, I have come to believe methods like pilates and yoga, or , even better, a combination of the two approaches are preferable to surgical options. The most successful cases also incorporate rehabilitative massage to support the optimal structural integration of the postural changes of the body. Currently, there are excellent DVDs available to rent, borrow or own with selections and sequences of simple exercises which identify and address the various lateral curvatures termed scoliosis. Physical therapy is another valuable resource for those who wish to utilize other options before surgery. As spinal fusion is irreversible, it is best reserved as the last choice. A group class, another inexpensive option can be effective if you take time to inform the instructor prior to registration to identify your concerns and limitations. This will also help you determine if the particular instructor is an appropriate choice for your needs. I suggest you look for a class described as “restorative” or “rehabilitative” taught by someone experienced in modifying the standard exercises for a variety of conditions. Another terrific option is to work one-on-one for 2 or 3 classes to get started safely and to develop a personalized program for your individual needs. Over the past year I have watched a determined pilates enthusiast as he slowly, methodically lost 80 pounds and rebuilt his body by working on the pilates apparatus called the “reformer”. His muscles are now long and lean. His scoliosis is largely undetected. The physical discomfort he experienced is gone and he carries himself proudly, full height, no apologies. His emotional change is dramatic. Previously bullied, he is now positive, creative and full of enthusiasm. His self esteem has flowered carrying him into new adventures and projects. Like so many of the people I am honored to assist, he is an inspiration to anyone on the path to better health. http://www.easyvigour.net.nz/pilates/h_pilatesscoliosis.htm http://www.ehow.com/facts_4828544_pilates-exercises-scoliosis.html http://astore.amazon.com/wwwcurvedspic-20?_encoding=UTF8&node=1 http://www.muellermassageandpilates.com/pilates/ http://www.accelerated-wellness.com/raindrop_therapy_technique.htm

losing sight

We just can't always see where we are going, where the path is taking us...and if I were brutally honest with myself I would just admit that it's all something of an experiment, taking me into areas of interest and curiousity. Writing an article about scoliosis I am holding an image of the spiraling movement of the spine not unlike the curving movement of this path in the Japanese Garden at the Uof M Landscape Arboretum. Even if there was a definite destination there could be so many detours that the arrival time is unrealistic. And if we allow extra time for detours, and getting lost, we may easily arrive earlier than expected. Staying alert and attentive is helpful advice in any case. All we really have is our present location: standing under the cherry tree with a waterfall on the right, a tea house on the left, and the hosta garden somewhere behind me. And a cell phone, in case I get lost...

mango cheesecake

A rainy August Friday afternoon and canceled clients. They canceled, not me...a wise man once reminded me in the face of devastating disappointment that it's all good. While driving to Broder's Italian Deli with my daughter, in a '98 convertible Z3 to eat mango cheesecake and drink jasmine tea I remembered his words: it was all good. 

http://www.broders.com/cucina-italiana/index.html

The summer had been incredibly dry and all vegetation had suffered. But after 24 hours of slow steady rain, everything was vibrantly colored. My tiger lilies were neon and the silly little petunias looked like velvet. Daughter was pensive, and relaxed. She was looking forward to a little retail therapy after tea, and had spent time working at the community gardens in spite of minimal sleep the night before...Her friend's mom, younger than I,  had recently died of pancreatic cancer. Her friend's mother refused treatment and died within two months of diagnosis. Her friend claimed she deliberately decided to "wean" herself from her Mom in subtle ways. I have vivid memories of weaning my daughter. It was one of the most painful things I have ever done, right up there with her birth. I thought of the time we had spent at Tate Britian last February, eating the best scones and drinking jasmine tea made in teapots like the ones at Broders's. It reminded  both of us of the time we spent in Krakow in coffee shops hanging out eating cream cakes, warm ponchki with rose jelly filling and "Lody Bambino." My own mother, her grandma, is a cancer survivor. I wanted her to skip chemo and radiation. I was silent, no one can make that decision for someone else. At 79, a heavy smoker for much of her life, a recovering alcoholic and DV survivor, the process left her fragile, toothless, and disorientated. The tea was scorching hot, too hot to drink. The fragrance of jasmine steamed in our cups, and we smiled, happy to be together.

Crust

• 1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, melted

Filling

• 3 large very ripe mangoes (each about 13 ounces), peeled, pitted, coarsely chopped
• 3 8-ounce packages cream cheese, room temperature
• 1 1/4 cups sugar
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 4 large eggs

• Sliced peeled pitted mangoes

preparation

For crust:
Preheat oven to 325°F. Lightly butter 9-inch-diameter springform pan with 2 3/4-inch-high sides. Stir cracker crumbs and sugar in medium bowl to blend. Add melted butter and stir until evenly moistened. Press crumb mixture firmly onto bottom (not sides) of prepared pan. Bake until crust is set, about 12 minutes. Cool completely. Maintain oven temperature.

For filling:
Puree mangoes in processor until smooth. Set aside 2 cups mango puree (reserve any remaining puree for another use). Beat cream cheese, sugar, and vanilla in large bowl until smooth. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Add 2 cups mango puree and beat until well blended. Pour filling over crust in pan.

Bake cake until set and puffed and golden around edges (center may move very slightly when pan is gently shaken), about 1 hour 25 minutes. Cool cake 1 hour. Refrigerate uncovered overnight. Run small knife between cake and sides of pan to loosen. Remove pan sides. Transfer cake to platter. Cut into wedges and serve with sliced mangoes.

Kellerville, Napa Valley

By the time we reached Bouchon I couldn't eat another bite of anything. The pastries were beautiful. So tempting and at another time I could buy a box full to go and devour them slowly over a longer period of time. But for this day, I passed them by. And I have no regrets. Tomorrow is another day...

Ingredients

Filling:

• 2 cups whole, 2 percent fat, or 1 percent fatmilk
• 1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
• 6 egg yolks
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup cornstarch
• 1 tablespoon cold unsalted butter

Pastry:

• 1 cup water
• 8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 3 eggs, plus 1 extra, if needed

Egg Wash:

• 1 egg
• 1 1/2 teaspoons water

Chocolate Glaze:

• 1/2 cup heavy cream
• 4 ounces semisweet chocolate, coarsely chopped

Directions

Filling: In a medium saucepan, heat the milk and vanilla bean to a boil over medium heat. Immediately turn off the heat and set aside to infuse for 15 minutes. In a bowl, whisk the egg yolks and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the cornstarch and whisk vigorously until no lumps remain. Whisk in 1/4 cup of the hot milk mixture until incorporated. Whisk in the remaining hot milk mixture, reserving the saucepan. Pour the mixture through a strainer back into the saucepan. Cook over medium-high heat, whisking constantly, until thickened and slowly boiling. Remove from the heat and stir in the butter. Let cool slightly. Cover with plastic wrap, lightly pressing the plastic against the surface to prevent a skin from forming. Chill at least 2 hours or until ready to serve. The custard can be made up to 24 hours in advance. Refrigerate until 1 hour before using.

Pastry: Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Line a sheet pan with parchment paper. In a large saucepan, bring the water, butter, salt and sugar to a rolling boil over medium-high heat. When it boils, immediately take the pan off the heat. Stirring with a wooden spoon, add all the flour at once and stir hard until all the flour is incorporated, 30 to 60 seconds. Return to the heat and cook, stirring, 30 seconds. Scrape the mixture into a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment (or use a hand mixer). Mix at medium speed. With the mixer running, add 3 eggs, 1 egg at a time. Stop mixing after each addition to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Mix until the dough is smooth and glossy and the eggs are completely incorporated. The dough should be thick, but should fall slowly and steadily from the beaters when you lift them out of the bowl. If the dough is still clinging to the beaters, add the remaining 1 egg and mix until incorporated.

Using a pastry bag fitted with a large plain tip, pipe fat lengths of dough (about the size and shape of a jumbo hot dog) onto the lined baking sheet, leaving 2 inches of space between them. You should have 8 to 10 lengths.

Egg Wash: In a bowl, whisk the egg and water together. Brush the surface of each eclair with the egg wash. Use your fingers to smooth out any bumps of points of dough that remain on the surface. Bake 15 minutes, then reduce the heat to 375 degrees and bake until puffed up and light golden brown, about 25 minutes more. Try not to open the oven door too often during the baking. Let cool on the baking sheet. Fit a medium-size plain pastry tip over your index finger and use it to make a hole in the end of each eclair (or just use your fingertip). Using a pastry bag fitted with a medium-size plain tip, gently pipe the custard into the eclairs, using only just enough to fill the inside (don't stuff them full).

Glaze: In a small saucepan, heat the cream over medium heat just until it boils. Immediately turn off the heat. Put the chocolate in a medium bowl. Pour the hot cream over the chocolate and whisk until melted and smooth. Set aside and keep warm. The glaze can be made up to 48 hours in advance. Cover and refrigerate until ready to use, and rewarm in a microwave or over hot water when ready to use.

Dip the tops of the eclairs in the warm chocolate glaze and set on a sheet pan. Chill, uncovered, at least 1 hour to set the glaze. Serve chilled.

say "yes"

Another thing to remember, is to say "yes." "Yes" to life. To getting out of bed in the morning. Step by step, one day at a time a life is created and celebrated. It isn't always easy, it isn't always fun but it is always an opportunity to grow and evolve into somone more loving, more giving and more grateful. Easy to forget to love ourselves, until we meet ourselves in another person, a courageous soul who will do whatever it takes to live in the face of fear. Without illusions, without hair, overweight, underpaid and hungry for more time with her young children. Surgery, chemo, radiation, whatever it takes...for as long as it takes, until the last dance, the last drop, the last crumb, the last breath. 

roll-up

In Pilates terms "roll-up" is a powerful exercise to strengthen core muscles, train alignment and traction the spine. Some enthusiasts consider it to be the most important exercise of the Pilates tradition. In another world, a culinary world, it is a spongy cake rolled around a creamy, sweetened and flavored filling. The sponge cake can be yellow or chocolate or any flavor you wish to attempt. The filling may also be diverse. This particular variation hold hazelnut cream and the cake is a dense dark chocolate, a little heavier, slightly more moist than the traditional sponge. The recipe is a close relative of our favorite brownie. Garnished with three kinds of berries, what could be better. I remember making jelly rolls as a kid. They were usually filled with strawberry jam and didn't last too long at our house. Sometimes I would make two: one to eat right away, fresh out of the oven, spread with jam before the cake was cool and rolled immediately. The second was was also rolled but without filling and saved for a thicker, creamy combination of fruit and cream Chantilly. On a summer evening, with fresh blueberries, there was nothing more comforting than watching the stars from the front steps with a slice of roll-up melting in your mouth.

dance lesson

The first thing to remember is that it's brief, over before you know it. The undeniable truth is still that: this just doesn't last very long. And even if you are lucky enough to get some borrowed time, it might not include everything you have today. Like an invitation to dance. To find ways of moving together, perhaps not in unison, but at least in love. We take so much for granted, and then it's gone, and we can't get it back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty.

There is a fleeting series of present moments, the frames of a video clip. And when you add them up, you have a story. A young woman struggles with her identity. Talented, energetic, skilled in so many different areas she cannot choose easily how to shape her life. Her priorities shift like the landscape she inhabits. Her aging grandfather watches her evolution, her growing pains, he sees her pain, he has advice but he cannot live her life for her. He knows he may not even witness much more or her process. And his cataract surgery has literally opened his eyes to the beauty and wonder he had been missing. Out of practice, out of shape, he asks her to dance. Something easy, and not terribly aerobic: a waltz. Then, a rumba. A few minutes at a party, with his grand-daughter's friends. He had spent the day with his dying brother-in-law. His hunger for contact, for meaning, has grown out of that meeting. Maintaining the quality of one's life, savoring each moment, each sensation, each joyful exchange. This dance was a rare gift on a beautiful, sunny first day of August, almost 26 years to the day of his grand-daughter's birth, ...the beginning of good-bye. An opening of heart. Alleluia, Amen.

remember

The beauty of pain is that it is a clear reminder that you are ignoring and/or overridding something that could turn into a much more painful condition. It could be alignment, over overuse, or a lack of sensitivity. It might simply be fatigue or dehydration. A drop in blood sugar. It's your body's way to "text message".  

note to self

This bird lives in Loring Park. When it flies from tree to railing it is indescribable. The vases at La Belle Helene were covered with flying cranes and this reminds you of those vases and that magical time in your life. The bird has companions there and they are part of a larger force which may benefit, and be beneficial to you personally, and the people you hang with collectively.Their elegance is inspiring and inspired. They are not separate from you, and yet they are not you. They share in consciousness, yet they are only a part of the larger consciousness which informs our world. Think carefully before you eliminate regular physical contact with them. As we were doing qigong today there was a heart opening that was so easy, so relaxed, so sweet it would be silly to minimize it's value. And the opening carried over into the rest of the day allowing a little more relaxation and trust in my world, my whole world. And this is no small thing. Shine on, my friend, the park is going nowhere, must you abandon this opportunity for joy, for encounter? This opportunity to bathe in the  beauty and majesty of the natural word and it's creatures? And I include you, you are an integral part of nature, inseparable. Live that truth with courage and trust knowing, without question that your least desire will be provided for in a heart-beat. You are so loved. Relax for all is well. Abundance is yours.

baby beets

Sometimes I get the urge to cook. Not often enough to cause a problem in my schedule or my leisure time. Or my work time for that matter. It's actually rare, perhaps every 6 weeks, but definitely more frequent than the urge to clean the house. I stop by my neighborhood farmer's market on Sunday morning and I am inspired by the fresh produce or the artisan cheese and it hits me. So I buy something irresistible, nutrient dense, without really knowing who will be eating it. But knowing it won't be just me. I knew I had olive bread from "Rustica" at home, so I picked up a wedge of artisan goat cheese to compliment the Thai-style beet soup I was planning to prepare with the beautiful beets I had purchased. I decided to steam them instead of roasting. I sauteed sweet onions in unsalted butter, whooshed it in the blender with chicken stock and added a little sea salt, rosemary, cinnamon and coconut cream. The flavor was rich and intense. If it would have been a hot summer day, I would have served it cold with yogurt garnish. But eating it steaming hot was perfect. Followed by a melt-in-your-mouth rhubarb cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream. It was a wicked ending to the festive 4th of July weekend. In the past I have been a meticulous cook, devoting my full attention to the creation of a meal. Recently I have been more easily distracted by food preparation. For me this results in burnt pans, sometimes destroyed as I forget that I have put something on a burner, using high heat, and then forgotten about it. Distracted by a writing idea, or a phone call, or a business appointment, I don't even notice what is occurring until my nose reminds me of the forgotten pan. Today was a huge success in that, knowing my tendency, I kept everything on low, slow heat. I still forgot about the steaming beets, but the damage was minimal and easily remedied. The soup was unique, the company charming, and the dishes quickly in the dishwasher. In time to relax over a cup of jasmine tea before bed. 

All Seasons, Calistoga

I am over a dish of ricotta gnocchi at All Seasons. The co-owner, Gayle Keller, described the process of making the ricotta. She said it was easy. I haven't cooked for so long that it was difficult for me to visualize the process as she described the various steps. So I just focused on the product. It was piping hot, so I waited for it cool enjoying the fragrance of the creamy sauce.  I didn't wait too long but dipped into the dish and popped the first little dumpling in my mouth. It was rich, as I suspected, and comforting after a long day of hard core relaxation. We had spent long hours at Spa Solage training on the Pilates reformers, swimming laps, and doing Tai Chi and Yoga adapted for the pool. Over appetizers at the side of the pool we talked about the changes in the valley since I first arrived in 1975. I had left in 1980 to follow an urge to live in Europe for a time. Out of sight I had forgotten how it felt to be surrounded by the northern hills of the valley. The dry, golden grasses and the rows of terraced vines in all directions. The creamy sauce of the gnocchi reminded me of that rich, indulgent time of my life. I had lived in a little cottage with a fig tree in the back yard. How tempting to move back, even for just a few months or a year; or two, or three...I believe I could be happy waking up to those hills. breathing that air, hearing those sounds. By the time I finished the last drop of sauce I had a plan. And in the morning when I awoke, the plan, like the gnocchi, was gone.

reflect

Then we stop working and reflect. On our efforts on our process, our methods. How we might perform more effortlessly more seamlessly, more elegantly. With clearer intention. or perhps on the impact our work has on the people around us. We acknowledge their participation in our lives. And we recognize the dance that is happening, all the time, even when we forget about it. We just relax, enjoy the scenery and flow from one encounter to the next. Transition to transition, life unfolding, happening, and falling away. I woke this morning slightly off balance, just on the edge of dizzy. Not enough to be alarmed, but definitely enough, very subtle, for someone who is pretty tuned into her body to notice. So I'm moving through my work day watching the tipsy tendency and taking it slow, eating apples and being very aware of the humid heat.

working

We work. And we are grateful for the opportunity to do so. And when we fall asleep at night, bills paid, a little extra in a pocket. We are happy to wake up in the morning and do it again.

peace out

For some of us it's not about paying the mortgage. That would be a privilege we are not yet, and perhaps may never, be blessed to enjoy. Some of us are just trying to cover our rent, and make the payments on our truck. Which allows us to work, which enables us to make the payments. It's a cycle we volunteer to participate in for as long as we are willing to carry the responsibility. We are the "other half" and when we wish to see how the "other half," the privileged half, lives, we need only to glance in the mirror. We have educations, credit scores, health insurance, libraries, and the luxury of vacations. We are employed, and some of us are small business owners. We work hard, sometimes 60 hour a week. Then we take 2 weeks off and canoe the boundary waters, or stay with friends in the Napa Valley, or Seattle or Atlanta. While in other parts of the world people struggle to feed their kids, teach them to read, or learn a skill. The only "vacation" available is unemployment. Social services are few and far between...One of the benefits of traveling is the subtle experience of groundlessness, not knowing where you are, stepping out of your comfort zone, reaching out and having to say, "I don't know where I am; am I close to the park; is this the right stop; does the bus stop here?" Recognizing our gifts, and opportunity, our success, and the people and circumstances that support the continuation of our successful encounters. 

Forever and  a day.

Alleluia, 

Amen.