chocolate source

After doing a fair amount of research on the cacao industry and the sources of the beans I moved to the fair trade sources. This is one of my favorites and the Wedge coop has it in the chocolate section. The website is linked to their partners and supporters and has an appealing online shop. As a Wedge member, I get an automatic 10% discount on a case of 12 bars: my purchase for lent. I am watching the movie "Chocolat" this evening, story within the story, or stories, everything including domestic violence, children's rights, homelessness, vandalism, religious fanatics, paganism, globalization, and creativity. "Equal Exchange" also offers coffee and tea, both attractive products.

http://www.crsfairtrade.org/2010/02/18/its-lent-so-why-think-about-chocolate/

Flourless Chocolate Espresso Cake from Gigi's

Late afternoon, low blood sugar, long workday and grey skies. Tomorrow brings daylight savings time and we lose an hour until we find it next fall. This purchase was lovely, although my companion was more critical than I of the flavor. He claimed it was too bitter, that it tasted of burnt coffee beans. We agreed that the texture was melt in your mouth so we did find some common ground. My practice seems to be bearing fruit in that today I ate two bites and then put my fork down and retrieve a "to go" box. The second portion, over half is sitting in the refrigerator and I feel content, simply to know that it is there waiting for me while I research the slave trade on the Ivory Coast: 12 year old boys indentured to harvest the cacao beans consumed by an impressive percentage of the world. Yes mixed into our chocolate consumption is the monster we call child slavery. At 12 my mother insisted I babysit her friends children. I was paid fifty cents an hour. The boys work for about a year to pay off their contracts of $38. Monstrous. I paid $5.50 for this slice of cake. I wonder how much of that made it back to those boys, assuming the chocolate wasn't fair trade, organic and that the source was unconfirmed. The irony of slaves imported to the new world to harvest various crops and the crops, such as cacao, imported to Africa to be cultivated and harvested by slaves in their own back yards. Perhaps we decide it was less expensive to take the cacao to the labor force than the brutality of bringing the labor force/forced labor to the New World. The chain from source to product makes it a challenge to be certain that the laborers have been paid a living wage. And unless you are purchasing a product from a place like the Wedge how do you know where those ingredients have come from to reach your plate? And how does one simply trust, with confidence that personal happiness, and indulgence has not been the source of someone else's suffering? The garnish of whipped cream, the woman behind the counter, the dishwashers in the back room: no separation, each holding the hand of the one next in line all the way back to the origin, where ever you choose to define the beginning. Intimately connected in our experiment, across oceans and back again. Looking forward to breakfast and sending those boys my concern. Is it safe to assume that the girls are involved with other services?

Chocolate Hazelnut Praline Cake from LaDuree in Harrods London

In November 2008 my daughter wrote to me about LaDuree at Harrod's. Her actual move to London was different than she had anticipated. More challenging, less profitable. And I missed her more than I imagined possible. My heart strings were stretched to their limit and I lay awake at night, listening for her psychic voice whispering across the miles of ocean. I stalked the LaDuree website constructing a new order each day, working my way through the entire menu. I described the weather and the circumstances of my meal on this blog, convincing many readers that I was actually writing from factual experience rather than my over-active imagination . This exercise was my way of dealing with my desire  to participate in her experience without wanting to live it for her or influence her decisions. Mid February I boarded a plane, crossed the Atlantic and floated through the Heathrow gates to her smiling face. She carried herself with complete confidence, directing me to purchase an Oyster card. In no time at all I found myself holding a plate of chocolate hazelnut praline cake, sipping jasmine tea while sitting across from my beloved daughter, In a dreamlike  state my virtual visits and blog entries mingled with jet lag producing a sense of Deja-Vu. To be able to just reach across the table and touch her seemed miraculous. Photos are forbidden at LaDuree, forcing us to exercise our artistic licenses. This document was accomplished via the creative neural pathways of my daughter's companion, giving a visceral understanding of the phrase "under the table".

Triple Chocolate Cheesecake from Chang Mai Thai

He was fascinated by food: my son was born with a discerning palate. Shortly before his third birthday he began to request the latest issue of Gourmet magazine as his bedtime story. Our list of "firsts" are predominantly food events. From his first meal at Chez Panisse and his first trip to the Napa Valley to his first time at Chang Mai Thai for their "Happy Hour". This triple cheesecake followed a full selection of appetizers, enough to cover our tabletop.  Half of the filling was dark richly colored and flavored chocolate, the other half delicate, subtle white chocolate surrounded by a puddle of warm milk chocolate sauce. Gone are the days when he stubbornly insisted on eating exclusively milk chocolate. He now consumes a wide range of dark chocolate with a wide variety of cacao proportions. He has followed the product from pod to bar through each messy, painstaking step. He is a veritable walking encyclopedia of chocolate, highly opinionated and his cacao curiosity is boundless. Perhaps one day, he will move out of my basement, heading for more adventures in chocolate. Until then, and sometimes impatiently, I continue to savour our relationship over chocolate.

Signature Turtle Cake from Cafe Latte

Chocolate Raspberry Dacquoise from Bakery St Honore

Double Chocolate Cupcake from Butter Bakery

Chocolate Rollup from La Chocolaterie

Flourless Chocolate Cake from Rustica Bakery

Chocolate Mousse Cake from Whole Foods Bakery

Chocolate Raspberry Cake from Patrick's Bakery

Spoonriver Flourless Chocolate Cake with Passionfruit Sorbet

German Chocolate Cupcake from Butter Bakery

Mexican Chocolate Cake from the Wedge Coop Bakery

Double Chocolate Cake from Gigi's

As a child I "gave up chocolate" for the time leading up to Easter. It was difficult and not very successful. My heart simply wasn't in it and my motivation was low. This year I decided to eat chocolate cake for lent. Mindfully. With great awareness of it's sensual pleasure and history as an aphrodisiac. To paraphrase Virginia Madsen in the movie "Sideways": With each slowly consumed morsel I like to think about the life of chocolate. I like to think about what was going on when the beans were growing., how the sun was shining if it rained. All the people who tended and picked the cacao, and the sugar cane and if it's older chocolate, how many people might be dead by now. I like to think about how chocolate production has  evolved  and how the flavor changes with temperature and manipulation. Sometimes I cut a slice of chilled cake and leave it on my desk and eat it throughout the day noticing the changes as it warms to room temperature. It appears to be alive and constantly evolving, gaining complexity.It peaks with the first bite so by savoring, and spreading out consumption of that one piece I feel like each bite is the first. Until I reach the inevitable last crumb. I try to vary my selections and the sources, thinking about the bakers and service people who make my experience possible. And the countries who build their economic structure on the ingredients. I try to buy fair trade, organic and wonder about the cows and chickens who contributed to the product. Were they treated humanely, with dignity? When possible, I walk to the "bakery of the day" so the purchase becomes a pilgrimage for me, too. Silly perhaps, but much better than the fasting and self-flagellation of my previous years.  

(See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flagellation)

Chocolate Caramel Cake

incentive

On the way to Country Manor, where my mother is currently a resident of the long term care center, I pass the Puma store. And usually I fantasize about leaving the freeway, parking in the glorious Spring sunshine and finding my favorite shoe in a wide selection of colors at a fraction of the retail price.

But I don't.

 

Until today.

Motivation is an elusive thing. Sometimes I discover that am motivated by fear, confusion, a desire to procrastination, to gain peer approval. And today, as I approached the exit, I heard my old inner voice saying there was no time for this Puma detour. And today I took a moment to simply relax and trust the  journey. I could feel a shift in my motivation from wanting to "do it right" to "resting in joy", feeling the sunshine on my face and in my hair. 

snicker salad

Overhearing a discussion about snicker salad I wondered how salad greens and snicker bars came to be paired up in the same dish. What kind of dressing would be the most suited for such a concoction? Is it served as an appetizer, a first course or as a palate cleanser? And is it accompanied by champagne or a lighter still wine? Or a shot of Jack Daniels, but no, probably Cuervo gold would be the wiser choice. As I tuned into the culinary conversation other questions came up. Who would make (and serve) such a concoction and is the recipe open to adaptations: Perhaps Kit Kat or 3 Musketeers instead of Snickers? I was given the recipe: Cool whip, chopped green apples, and broken up Snicker bars, mixed together and chilled until serving, or transporting to the annual family reunion. My sister is the Queen of snicker salad and all similar creations. With a family history of diabetes, alcohol and breast cancer it is easy to glance down the road and predict her future fairly accurately, assuming there is no deviation from the current path. No intervention. No wake up call. We are free to make choices which shape our experience and this is hers: the snicker salad lifestyle. At one time we were "facebook" friends, "cafeworld" neighbors. Her daughter stayed with me for the weekend when she was 3 years old. Growing up in Gaylord, MN, we shared a room for a time.  And now, with our mother in "long term care/skilled nursing" she removes me as her "facebook" friend. Silliness in the midst of trauma, possible elder abuse of our mother. What is it about family relations that prevents healing, recognizing the benefit of diversity and insists on blind compliance or imposes the sentence of abandonment. How is her identity threatened by my desire for a more compassionate approach to our parents aging? Has she simply worked in family law for too long? Is there a way to reach the same conclusion without objectifying our mother's existence, and simply warehousing her body?

Wild Mind

Parenting gets more complex as I continue to let go. The process reminds me of flypaper. I am so impressed and inspired by my kids and yet, I get so tangled and drawn into making contributions to their projects without really examining too deeply whether my contributions are appropriate and healthy. It certainly isn't healthy for our adult relationships to be centered around constantly helping them at my own expense? Before I think about my own needs and enjoyment. One thing I neglect is what I call "wasting time". Taking a nap falls into this category. So does reading for pleasure, and playing cafeworld. And my personal quest for the perfect chocolate layer cake. Yet I love participating in the accomplishments and milestones of their attempts into creativity. I just haven't learned to be more demanding of their financial stability. Is it too early? Am I wrong? Do I have unrealistic expectations of them, and myself? Last year I was in London at this time. And that was something of am assessment trip: wanting to see if rescue was in order. And what measure or kind of rescue was appropriate. Like my mother: is a wheelchair too much? Is a walker enough? Assisted living or long term care? The process is subtle and self contained. And there are moments of partnership or parentship in these two very different relationships that are blissfully satisfying. In spite of the conflicted feelings, in spite of not knowingness, in spite of my self-doubt and tendency to second guess my decisions. I have an opportunity to recognize my old feelings and respond to them with trust and confidence in the creative process. Knowing that there is some good, some beauty, some of freedom in each of these decisions. I look back at the beginnings of Quartet with awe and recognition of the importance of timing. And the changes that needed to happen for that performance to occur as it did two weeks ago. What a surprise! I felt so relaxed and trusting. So satisfied with the imperfections and limitations of the dancers. And our schedules; and my budget. I remember productions where I was so stressed and obsessed and over worked trying to be everywhere and do everything all at once. This was a huge improvement over the old approach. Yet I am still as demanding as ever, it just doesn't bother me as much when I don't get everything. I feel like I am more realistic in my expectations. 

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.