Category: Advent

Season of Rebirth: Burning Man Temple and Calatrava’s Oculus

On the the blessings of living in the megalopolis of the DC to NYC corridor is the possibility of visiting beautiful sites mere hours of days apart. On Christmas, the opportunity presented to visit Calatrava’s Oculuson the World Trade Center site and just days later, the Best’s Temple for Burning Man at the Renwick. While I didn’t seek out each site for any sort of spiritual experience, both left me with pause given we are working through the season of rebirth, renewal — and new beginnings.

The Temple as well as the Oculus honor those that we mourn and desire and the eyes are naturally drawn skyward — which for the Oculus brings a rush and multitude of layered memory. Calatrava’s soaring design is meant to embody just that — a bird flying from the hand of a child. The innocence of that image is felt — and the color in the evening, resembles the sky on that day most of us remember clearly — a day that started like most other fall days. The bird metaphor embodied in the design, one can hope is that the spirits of those lost are now free and while evil struck, a return to innocence is possible.

For the Temple, the fresh and fragrant smell of balsa wood also elludes to hope, while reverent lighting provides a moment of heavenly breath. Visitors’ messages to loved ones link the Temple to the site of the Oculus where messages were left for days and months after the fall of the Towers — perhaps it is the written word that provides a moment of renewal in our belief that those we love are not truly gone from our grasp — that memories are closer than we think.

While the Temple is set to come down on January 5, there are still a few days left to experience the installation but the Oculus offers a permanent destination for reflection.

One last gingerbread…

img_20190104_055100It is the last day of Winter Break…one of the saddest days of the year, to me. Yes, we’re only several days into the year — but the return to routine, is a bit like a door closing on a season that is all too short; we are urged from every direction whether our faith community or the news — to slow down, be mindful, take more time with loved ones, focus on what is really important…yet there is always a reckoning day – the day we must face the reality of routine and accomplishing tasks and we march toward a myriad a goals to be realized.

My answer: one last gingerbread breakfast.

This may not seem like a solution to most folks that see cake for breakfast as a bad thing — I however celebrate cake for breakfast in its many forms. As a person that has worked through numerous nutrition scenarios over my now 50 years (I have the privilege and anguish to have the rarest of all U.S. birthdays, January 1), I can say that cake for breakfast has provided the mental buoy that I have needed to glide into many challenging days. For those that find themselves agape, with the horrified hand to cover their wide open mouths (the sugar! the lack of protein!), I’ll tell you this — the serotonin boost from the anticipation of a spicy, dark cake breakfast soothes even the dreariest day and does more to combat the cloying grayness than any protein-infused breakfast.

While I often make gingerbread from scratch, Trader Joe’s is the best mix available — as soon as you open the bag, the ginger symphony wafts upwards to greet you, and an immediate calm covers you. Now, I do make an alteration to the prescribed mixing instructions substituting apple sauce for oil, which adds nutrients and subtracts calories. At the beginning of the season, we anxiously await the release of this mix and this year stopped by several TJ locations (thankfully we now live in an area with many) to see which days the stocking of the mix would commence — and yes, we went on day one. Four boxes pretty much sees us through the season and so as not to take any risks, we buy all four on our “fist day on the shelf” shopping trip.

Gingerbread, and all its delicious glory and grace is to me, metaphorical for how this year will go — layered flavors, spice, savory but sweet, a respite. Gingerbread rallies our little team, its packable and mobile (unless you put cream on top), and it is the pause before a flurry of snow or activity. It requires that you slow down — there is no way to eat gingerbread fast. It is quiet, rich, comforting when all else seems to be speeding away and out of control. As light begins to creep into the day, it seems clear that rain is not so far away — again. But for today, we’ll start with cake to trick our brains away from the desolate color, the fact that the routine is about the begin in earnest, and make small plans to enjoy this last morning of freedom.

Fondue: Before and After

On the left, our Christmas Day fondue spread and on the right, our Boxing Day brunch casserole — made with the leftover bits from the fondue spread. First, the list of fondue items included: sourdough cubes, baked french fries (Trader Joe’s), cornichons, honey crisp apples, ham cubes and broccoli. My interest in fondue came from three distinct directions: 1) I am a child of the 1970s, therefore in some way fondue must be in my soul. 2) Every night, my daughter and I listen to Flat Stanley which has a reference to fondue (and poutine at some point) and 3) I found this lovely Swiss Emmi cheese in the market just downstairs — a fortuitous find in my quest to have an easy but fun Christmas meal for our small family (it’s our day to read and go to the movies, and we’re anti-travel on any major holiday).

The best part of the fondue journey was our trip to Target to find the pot — though my husband insisted that from his memory you could make melty cheese in any regular sauce pan (because melty cheese is pretty much sauce anyway), but I wanted the full-in 1970 experience including matching skewers. We arrive at Target, and because we didn’t see any pots near the regular crock-pot type area (which I assumed to be a close match) I ventured to ask the first associate I found. First, he kindly explained he only worked nights and then offered to help us find someone with the right scanner for electronic searching. On our walk towards this new person, he wanted to know what fondue was — so I quickly explained. Then he relayed this to our new person, associate #2 — who looked at my like I was nuts. A pot for melting cheese? She decided we better get associate #3 involved who quickly proceeded to start typing into his handheld device – but on second thought, asked me how to spell fondue. And, key the Property Brothers “aha lights” and we have a match in the Target database! And there is one, or several in the store, on the aisle directly across from where we are standing! Now, all five of us — me, my daughter and three Target associates are going to see the magical fondue pots. As we get closer, I pick up the pace a little because it’s at the end of the row and the shelf looks pretty bare except for a display model (with skewers) — now I can show everyone how fondue works, right here in aisle 29! And snag the very last one (boxed) from the shelf for our little celebration of melty cheese. I am pretty sure we still left our three associates a bit befuddled…I really thought fondue was making a come back.

First, fondue is easy. Second, the leftovers make this great casserole for brunch the next day along with four eggs, some milk and a little mozzerella for the top at 350 for 30-40 minutes. If there is left over Emmi or other fondue cheese (who ever has left over cheese?) that would work for the topping as well. There’s been a lot of coverage in the news recently about “adulting” classes — and I like to think of breakfast casserole as one of those essential adulting meals — you just know what to throw together, from what leftover, that will melt well together into a one-dish meal. Easy, breezy and I don’t know why schools obliterated home economics — I know it doesn’t meet an AP standard or raise SAT scores, but really it should be mandatory learning for all high school students to understand how to turn fondue into casserole. As a teacher myself, any student that can write out the instructions on this conversion will show me not only creativity, but the fact that they can survive on their own, and that will always garner a gold star from me.

Jólabókaflóðið = Christmas Book Flood

IMG_20181225_064318Jólabókaflóðið or Jolabokaflod (Christmas book flood) is the Icelandic tradition of giving books (and reading) during Christmastime, due to the fact that most books in Iceland (Reykjavík is a UNESCO City of Literature) are published during the autumn months. Our family adopted this tradition early on, since not only do we buy lots of books anyway, but it seemed like a good way to spend part of Christmas Eve anyway by stopping into a bookstore as part of our hygge-like celebration of the season. We’ve hit a variety of shops over the years from the local Barnes & Noble, to last year’s visit to the amazing Strand and this year to Politics & Prose.

Books are the backbone of this home – stacks are often found well outside any shelf, and really there are never enough shelves no matter which home we’ve lived in for any length of time. There are books in storage, in the basement, under beds and in closets. We also have three working Kindles (great for travel, audio books and music). If books decorate our home, a trip to the bookstore is a serotonin boost for us — to be near all of those words, with their stories (albeit some better than others), and to get a coffee and cake after perusing and buying the next treasure? Best days ever. No matter how we’ve often lived on academic salaries, lay-offs and what seems like an unending tide of medical bills — for books, while we may pace ourselves, we’ll find a way to buy what we consider friends and bring them home to be members of this otherwise small family of three. There is no such thing as too many books for us and here’s why — because these are our friends, we can always go for a visit — a favorite passage, or an entire round-trip visit, a quick view or an afternoon, doesn’t matter; like our human friends, some days we have more time to chit-chat than others. We love libraries too, more on that later.

Merry Book Flood one and all!

 

It’s Never too Late for Gingerbread

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Somehow 2018 has vanished, but when I found myself on the eve of Christmas eve with a bit of stamina left (everyone else passed out on the couch or with earphones on), I decided it’s just never too late for gingerbread. And maybe this will be my mantra for the year going forward. I went with the simple method on this batch, no rolling/cutting/decorating — so these look a little more like peanut butter cookies in traditional shape but with the distinct taste of ginger and cloves — with just the right amount of satisfying crisp around the edges with smooth centers. Recipe courtesy of my favorite flour, King Author.

I think of gingerbread cookies as the hardest working cookie on the Christmas platter: it’s sturdy, spicy and substantial. On the nutrition side, these cookies actually come in quite well: using my method these come in at 69 calories a cookie (60 cookies per the King Author recipe, using a 1/2 tablespoon + a smidge as a size guide). This recipe also includes a bit of iron, potassium and Vitamin D — anytime you can pick up Vitamin D in the winter, from a cookie no less, is an excellent use of calories. Analyzing recipes may not sound glamorous, but this one from verywell fit is excellent, easy and now I know about the Vitamin D, which I didn’t know before. Of further note on gingerbread — these are excellent for hikes, breakfast nearly year-round, with tea or coffee, though probably not with chai — that’s maybe too much spice?

Hygge, Hearts and the Solstice

IMG_20171205_131721.jpgLast year the New Yorker named 2016 as the year of hygge — the Danish tradition of “getting cozy” during the winter months; for those of us with Danish and other Nordic roots, hygge — and open faced sandwiches are routine parts of the winter holidays and that the New Yorker, is sort of way behind. Candles and wool socks, warm rice pudding and pea soup are not a new things, and in fact, many of us grew up this way — along with grandparents with accents from all of the Scandinavian countries (hygge is not limited to Denmark). The idea of hygge is one of comfort — in both the environment around us, and in our own skin — which sometimes craves wool, snowflakes and soup. Hygge is not a fad, but an emphasis on the beauty of the soul and our relationship to nature; there is never bad weather, but there can be the wrong outerwear.

So to kick the hygge season off, here are a few of my favorite things:

Danish Sandwiches or Smorrebrod : during cozy times, it’s important to eat well — sandwiches offer creativity, variety and fresh flavors — and the opportunity to gather friends and family to partake in preparation. More on sandwiches from Serious Eats for further ideas on how to concoct delicious creations. Of note: if you’re looking for an excellent, and easier-than-roasting-a-20-pound-bird Thanksgiving, consider smorrebrod with a turky-ish and cranberry flair. We went this route this year, and a total success — amongst our variety we included a turkey (chicken works well) salad with dried cranberries, walnuts, honey and mustard resting atop a rustic sourdough cranberry bread, lightly toasted, with plenty of Finlandia butter as a base. Always open-faced, always use a knife and fork.

Juleharter = Danish woven hearts: a quick tutorial and template from the site Bits of Ivory. Red and white are the traditional color scheme, but going a little rogue is okay. Scandinavian holiday decorations lean towards the natural with use of materials such as wood, wheat, wool and of course these hearts which may adorn trees filled with treats or as a simple exchange with a friend. Legend has it that Hans Christian Andersen invented this simple woven treasure — like Santa, this is a legend I think is worth embracing.

Aebelskiver – round, ball-like pancakey donuts: a little trickier than sandwiches and a special pan is needed to create these treats, or a weeknight dinner or brunch in the winter months depending on how you choose to fill them. This recipe is excellent, but I simply use pancake mix and modify — whether with jam filling, ricotta, bacon or really any ingredient that is choppable and droppable into the batter in the aebelskiver pan. Tip: us a wooden skewer (kabob) stick to turn the sometimes wiley rounds of batter — this will take practice, and is totally worthwhile once you’ve conquered the pan and there is no smoke simmering from your stove. Do not use any cooking spray on this pan, unless a black tinge is something you crave with pancakes.

Bokaflod or Julebokaflod: book flood i.e. buy books and read books for the holiday season. This is an Icelandic tradition and most publishers there issue all their new releases in November to get folks ready to celebrate; and if you’re going to pursue hygge — a stash of books purchased for or during the holiday season, then you’re half-way to sandwich making. Think — a mug of strong coffee, a few butter (spritz) cookies, a few candles (pine or balsam scent) your brand new woolen socks and perhaps a high-performance fleece — a fire and now your stack of reading material. You’ve now achieved hygge nirvana.

As the solstice approaches — remember the outerwear — get yourself outside and enjoy the natural world, as there is no better way to begin to understand the majesty and wonder that abounds when darkness merges to light.

Happy Hygge!

p.s. don’t forget to post a few gnomes!

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You can take the girl out of the rain…

IMG_20171116_075658...but you can never take the rain out of the girl. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, rain is a constant; we have 90 ways of describing the gray-ness that envelopes the city, lowlands and coasts — and the words differ depending on your location. In my current near-South location, autumn is rapidly coming to a close and yet, the sun still shines — and it’s not that I don’t appreciate the sun, but I miss the life-giving force and comfort of the rain, despite the fact that when I live in the Northwest I must seek the healing power of acupuncture and high-intensisity lights to work through my seasonal depression. When I find neighbors still watering their lawns here, I’m aghast at the wastefulness — for in such a dry climate, how could one use this precious water for such luxury, when we have no idea when next we’ll see it in the sky? If my skin is so parched that no amount of water consumption or moisturizer makes a dent in my appearance or well-being, how must the land feel? It doesn’t take much historical reading to learn that crop failure is routine in the Mid-Atlantic due to weather conditions — early writings of Thomas Jefferson amongst other historical figures clearly indicate the financial boom and ruin of the region based on rain’s presence or absence.

As a Northwesterner, you learn as a child that rain and then snowpack define your level of water-usage throughout the year — no rain and no snow indicate “hold back” and most folks I knew growing up never watered their lawns — this obvious waste of a natural resource was forbodden. You learn to crave the rain, even when it causes traffic snarls, afternoon letheragy (an abundance of caffeine and chocolate cures exist to assist) and an obsession with the latest fleece styles. I suppose it’s possible that those of us that grew up with constant water in the sky are both blessed and cursed with the love of mist, dew, drizzle, sprinkle, downpour (usually only during November i.e. many famous Thanksgiving Day storms), pineapple express, el nino, el nina — and the list goes on. According to The Weather Channel, most PNW cities have less than five days per year with more than one inch of rain — but it rains at minimum, 150 days per year. To compare, New York receives about the same amount of average rain — but 30 more dry days (120 or so wet ones).

As the season of Advent unfolds, thoughts of light, darkness and shades between allow a bit of time for ponderance. Does my ever-watering neighbor continue in their pursuit of a lush lawn because their faith is stronger than mine? It’s a question worth asking, because my faith generall falls to go-slow, ponderous yet sporadic methodology. Does their watering timer provide the comfort of knowing that moisture, will be restored and that light will always follow darkness? Is my lack of watering, a lack of faith that the skies will once again open to reveal both skin and land-saving drizzle or even all-out stormdrain clogging, fat, lucious drops of what we Northwesterners call liquid sunshine?

This I know — I now dream in rain, because it is missing from my soul — the same rain that often tortures me, is part of me — it allows me a freedom that endless sun and heat do not. Rain provides the mental and intellectual respite for which sun is the opposite — sun drives, it does not rest. So until I return to greener roots…