I've migrated! Now you can find me here, thanks for visiting!

It's the time of year to put your hat on and brave the rain. Things are growing out there--differently than they do in the springtime--in that slow, snailish way that things happen in the northwest. A friend reminded me tonight how good fall can feel around here. He reminded me that while people in the rest of the world are perpetually blessed with sunlight, we, at least, can appreciate what it means to feel cozy. I like that sentiment.

I took a day trip to Roslyn this weekend. We walked up into the hills above all of those fields of gravestones and filled our pockets with that alien moss that reminds me of building fairy houses with my mom. This time of year is so great because its cold and gray but we haven't gotten sick of it yet; we're still riding that two month wave of perfect 75-and-sunny summer. The fog and dusk-like light that last all day are kind of beautiful, temporarily, and it's nice to be outside and feel them.

So this is what happened: We went to Las Vegas. Well, other things happened before that, but it was mostly all leading up to this big business trip I was taking for work, and Tom was coming along for the heck of it because neither of us had ever been before, and we were very busy.

We took an early morning flight out of SeaTac, the whole day stretching ahead of us, full of being lost and overwhelmed and (just a little bit) disoriented because of the alcohol. And this is what I'll say about the lit-up city in the desert: it's fucking weird. It's like spending a week at the glitziest mall you can think of, only all the patrons are tripping over their stilettos and sucking on cigarettes while they down their sixty-dollar-a-plate designer dinners. Needless to say I won't be back for a while.

I have to hand it to those casino designers, though, because the buildings themselves are pretty impressive in their vastness and detail, down to the fake little plants in the miniature apartment window boxes in New York, New York, their plastic leaves waving gently beneath the air conditioner's breeze. And hey, everybody loves a fake exploding volcano and a massive dancing fountain, so there's that.

To be quite frank, my favorite part of the whole trip was flying in and out. That desert is awesome, and next time I'm renting a car and leaving the mess and expense of the strip behind. The last thing I'd like to do on vacation is watch ladies older than my grandmother spend their last time on those whirling 7s and pairs of cherries while they sip watered-down cocktails, but I guess everyone's got their own priorities.

Sunday's Bake: Peach Apple Crisp

 





































Fall is officially here. Though the leaves have been falling for weeks, the wet, dark season really showed its face yesterday just in time for an all-day outdoor tailgate party I'd signed up to attend. I was really excited to peel off my socks at the end of the day, to say the least.

Despite the dreary, disgusting and bone-soaking winter season we have around here, there are some perks to fall that we can't deny: The general appeal of tea increases. Pumpkin spice and pumpkin puree are suddenly finding their way into my shopping basket. Yoga pants and Ugg boots are acceptable in public (although I can't quite stomach the leggings-as-pants-please-check-out-my-crotch style that so many people seem to find appealing).

Anyway, one other thing that I love about fall is Pie. And, perhaps more importantly (to this post, anyway), pie's sloppier younger sister Cobbler, also known as "Crisp" to her nearest and dearest. Crisp is a great end to any meal, easy to make and not too hard on your wallet, either. I was given a big bag of apples straight from their tree this past week, and right away I knew where they were headed.


Peach Apple Crisp, adapted from Betty Crocker

- 4 Medium Apples, peeled and sliced (roughly 4 cups, although I just basically filled my baking dish)
- 1 to 2 peaches (nectarines are also good), sliced
- 3/4 Cup Packed Brown Sugar
- 1/4 Cup all purpose flour
- 1/4 Cup almond meal*
- 1/2 Cup oats (quick-cook or regular or fine)
- 1/3 Cup butter, softened
- 3/4 Tsp cinnamon
- 3/4 Tsp ground nutmeg
- Cream or ice cream (to serve-optional)

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees, grease the bottom and sides of your baking dish
2. Spread the apples and peaches in your baking dish evenly
3. Mix together all other ingredients well (except the cream) and sprinkle over top of the apples
4. Bake for about 30 minutes or until the top is golden brown and apples are tender when pierced with a fork.
5. Serve with cream over top or with vanilla ice cream if you'd like

*Note that I used half almond meal and half all purpose flour to save on the carb count a tiny bit. You can use all regular flour if you have no almond meal, or all almond meal if you'd rather!

Sunday's Bake: Fruit Tart with Shortbread Crust

The easiest way to look gourmet: the tart.

Today was a typical Sunday in our little house. Tom slept in while I woke up early and drank my coffee, painted and started a baking project. This past Friday was Tom's sister's birthday, and she had requested a fruit tart for her family celebration this evening. I busted this guy out in just about an hour...and I'm pretty sure I'll be making it again. And again. For so much fruit and crust going on, it's pretty low-sugar, but certainly satisfied my sweet tooth anyway.

Here's the recipe:

For the crust:

1 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup confectioners sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup cold, unsalted butter, cut into pieces

For the topping:

1/2 cup mascarpone cheese
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons granulated white sugar (or xylitol)
3 cups mixed fruit of your choice (I used kiwis, strawberries, nectarines and blueberries)

*You'll also need an 8-or-9 inch tart pan, with removable bottom

1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F*
2. Lightly grease your tart pan
3. In a food processor, combine all the dry ingredients and pulse to combine.
4. Add the pieces of butter into the food processor and pulse until the mixture begins to combine and clump.
5. Take the dough out of the processor and using your hands, spread it evenly in the pan over the bottom and sides. Use the tines of a fork to pierce the bottom of the crust in a few places.
6. Cover the crust and put it into the freezer for 15 minutes to chill.
7. Remove the crust and put it into the oven at 425 for 13-15 minutes or until the crust is golden brown.
8. Take the crust from the oven and let it stand on a wire rack until cool.

While the crust is cooling:

9. In your electric mixer, combine mascarpone, whipping cream, vanilla and sugar. Beat until soft peaks begin to form.
10. Slice fruit as you desire, set aside.
11. When crust is cool, spread whipped topping evenly across the crust and add fruit to the top as you wish.

Eat it all up! (Refrigerate if not serving immediately)

Remember September

Not too many people even read my blog anyway, but I'm posting this everywhere because it's really important to me. 

I'm not an enormous fan of using my personal accounts for promotion - I see enough commercials and advertisements in my day-to-day life as it is without my contacts bombarding me with suggestions about how to spend my time or money - but today I feel like I need to make an exception to my personal policy:

Twelve years ago our country was faced with an enormous tragedy that unified us as a country and rudely reminded us all to live our lives to the fullest. An outpouring of goodwill and support enveloped the people of New York, enabling humanitarian aid, many recovery efforts, and eventually the construction of memorials at Ground Zero.

Yet as I spoke with the families of those who were lost yesterday, and the survivors, and the first responders who made it out alive, something became clear: people are beginning to forget. In this, there is no blame. Our lives are busy and full and we all have our own personal struggles that push to the forefront of our daily transactions. But these people who lost so much that day, and/or who gave up so freely their own safety and well-being to protect others, aren't really asking for much at all. These people only want to be remembered, want their loved ones to be remembered, not only as one conglomerate group of unfortunate people but as individuals who were cherished and admired by their families and communities.

As a part of the Tribute Flag Project, I have been able to see the profoundly positive consequences of making personal connections with these survivors. I have witnessed the way that art, in its incredibly unique way, can touch a part of someone's heart they thought they'd hardened. For the last 12 years,Dianne Brudnicki has personally funded each project, recruited and rallied volunteers, formed and cultivated relationships with people across the country, and (probably) pulled her hair out while shlepping big groups of PNW kids around New York just so that they can have the opportunity to make these profound connections with others. Most of all she has set a practically unmatched standard for remembering this day in history. I could not be more proud to be a part of this project or to have been privileged enough to work with Dianne all of this time.

If you are looking for a way to make your "remembering" just a little bit more meaningful this year, please don't hesitate to visit our project's website at www.TributeFlagProject.com to donate your time or money to a truly worthwhile cause. 

"I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question."          -Harun Yahya


Off to NYC I go again! Just have to power through a few days at work this week and then I hop a plane to the greatest city in the East.

Is it something about being in your twenties, or is life just a continuous struggle of trying to balance goal setting and aspirations with appreciating the small, non-glamourous moments of happiness that happen without trying?

I feel caught in a phase of unfulfillment as of late, but when I stop to think I also find myself in a very happy place, one where I am warm and baking bread and watching Jeopardy! after dinner. 

I took this picture from the train on my way to Ashland a couple of weeks ago. The train ride was really long and I fell asleep for part of it, but woke up just in time to catch the sun setting over these wide valleys of deep green trees. It was a lucky feeling to see it all, and to be where I was doing whatever I wanted to be doing when so many things were just about to be happening like crazy. My new job, by the way, has got me learning a lot of new things.

Independence Day

Perhaps one of the most remarkable things to me about getting older is that holidays have lost so much of  their excitement. Birthdays come and go but I don't feel significantly changed by them, I don't count down the days until Christmas (or if I do it's only because I am frantically trying to accomplish all the tasks on my holiday to-do list), and I don't feel wronged if I miss the fireworks or fall asleep before the clock strikes twelve. I know, I am pretty lame for being twenty-three.

For most of my adult/young adult life the 4th of July was significant to me because it was the most exhilarating and frantically busy workday of the year. I spent summers working for The Pizza Man in a tiny town where Independence Day is the most festively celebrated holiday that there is, and our little restaurant called all hands on deck for the whole day every year. It feels like a family event to me, after so many years repeating the same preparations with generally the same little cluster of people, and now it's one I've started to miss out on. Not that I'm trying to get back to slinging pizza, but truly, I can't ever say a bad word about that job or the most wonderful work-family thatI had there.

This 4th of July I was blessed with a much needed vacation, kind of on accident actually, as I happened to be waiting some days out between jobs. We drove six hours to Clarkston, where it stays warm after dark and the crickets sing beautifully. I spent the holiday laying in the yard reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao and grilling hamburgers. At dark, we drove the truck out to the edge of the bluff where Tom's mom lives, where you can look out over the whole of two towns,  and watched the fireworks exploding like temporary, glittering dandelions from above. It was so effortless and simple, and by far the best holiday I've celebrated in a long, long time.

Being ambitious--being a do-er--seems so necessary in my life right now. It is a time for accomplishing and taking care of things and initiating growth anjd change. But it's funny how just letting things happen, just not do-ing, gives way to much more satisfying results sometimes.

Yesterday was my last day of art classes for the school year. We had a sweet little party with strawberries and pizza and celebrated summer by beginning our nature journals with the assignment of filling them over our break.  Mine was mostly supposed to be for example purposes, but I got a bit gung-ho for the project as journal art tends to be my very favorite thing. I wish blogs could ever be as tangibly fascinating as journal art. But like ebooks are to the real, wrinkled, great-smelling thing you hold in your hand, I know that the two could never truly compare. 

There's something really wonderful about baking. I let the magic of cooking kind of fall to the wayside of my life for quite a while, but in the last year as the focus of my life has turned to food, I've realized how great it is. And also how accomplished you feel after making a big, delicious meal. 

Baking is even better in some respects, because I often have 90% of the ingredients on hand which makes it easy to bake whenever I feel like it. This afternoon was banana bread with walnuts.

I guess this is growing up

All these people at interviews are like, "So, are you passionate about marketing/health policy/technical writing..." 

And I just sit across the table from them thinking, "I like flowers." 

I think about how I love this poem by Mary Oliver, and how I'd hate to sit at a desk all day while the sun is out, encouraging all the petals to unfurl their gentle sunsets, their egg-yolk centers, their spiny, sticky greens. I think about lawns sliced open by old men riding dilapidated lawn mowers, and the smell that trails them--oil and grass stains. I think of sunburns and flip-flop blisters and charred hot dogs on the grill.

I think about my to do list and the stack of bills that needs to be paid. "Yes, I am SO interested in insurance practices," I tell them. 

Poppies
Mary Oliver 

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn't a place
in this world that doesn't

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it's done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?

Re-imagined

el nopal, the prickly pear 

I've been trying to re-imagine myself as someone who is more creative, more interested, and more engaged in the day-to-day activities of their life. Not to make this some kind of freaking self-help blog or something, but maybe it is really important to be constantly asking yourself "How can I make this day meaningful?" even when it seems painfully hard to pull yourself off the couch after a long eight hours of chasing after snotty two-year-olds and searching for teeny weeny tantrum-flung tube socks.

It's easier, for sure, to be meaningful on the weekends.

This re-imagined self of mine does more painting, adventurous cooking, and tells funnier jokes. She is more inclined to apply for new jobs, read new books and worry less about the furniture arrangement in her apartment. She trusts the fortunes out of fortune cookies (even if they are usually just more of an assertion of facts than any kind of true psychic prediction) and worries less about money. She takes advantage of vacation days and buys tickets to things without over thinking it.

Obviously, easier imagined than brought to life...but let's just take it one step at a time, shall we?

The painting above is my manifestation of being meaningful yesterday. Baby steps.

Alien Body

The thing that you should know about my pancreas is that it turned me into an alien. Watch out for yours, because the transition happens without a lot of warning.

I haven't written in a long time because I've been depressed. No one wants to read about it, and I don't want to post it all up on to the Internet like some sad sack Nancy Drew just trying to find herself in the middle of this diabetes wasteland. Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Inexplicable Organ Failure. Yep, that one would go straight to the best seller list.

On top of the fact that no one loves a whiner, having a disease like diabetes just doesn't work the same way as having cancer or liver failure or a flesh-eating disease does. When I'm down, it's because there's a container of pasta salad in the fridge and I want to eat the whole damn thing, but I can't because my body would flip out. And let me just say that after you're done throwing a tantrum because you can't eat unlimited amounts of pasta salad, you are guaranteed to feel like a childish fool. And your boyfriend is guaranteed to confirm that for you (even if he's usually pretty kind and tolerant). So yeah. You have to have a mastectomy? Feel free to scream and cry. Can't have French fries anymore? Seems kind of petty in comparison.

But back to the part about being an alien. Hands down the hardest part of all of this has to be feeling utterly alienated from my own body. It seems kind of silly, maybe, but I guess it's just something we take for granted most of the time. My whole entire life I was in touch with my body without thinking much about it. I understood the rules of what made it happy or irritated and though I didn't always follow them they were constant and reliable. The way I thought about my body had mostly to do with what size jeans I wore, or whether or not there were irritable zits all over my face. Size eight or size four, though, I perceived myself as a healthy person. I never knew how important that distinction was until I found out I was sick. Having a disease has altered my entire perception of myself, from the way I eat to the way I organize my day or keep my home. Transitioning from healthy to unhealthy has persuaded me that there is something inherently bad about my life, even though there actually isn't. It has managed to alienate me entirely from the person who I am (was?) and forced me to reexamine every millimeter of my daily life, transforming me into a controlled, reserved, blood-sugar robot.

For a while I didn't notice the changes in my demeanor. I just kind of lumped all of the frustration together and held it at an arm's length, dealing with it when I could and blaming it for all my harder days. It took a while to notice how deeply upset I truly was about having diabetes. Sure, it was initially shocking and overwhelming to find out something was wrong and it would be wrong forever, but it was manageable. The thing that I didn't anticipate was how unmanageable it made many other things in my life. The stresses of taking such particular care of myself every day all day intensify the stresses of work, my relationships, my self image, my household, bills and expenses, and every other little thing I might encounter throughout the day. Thus, my writing has fallen by the wayside.

I read in a book just after being diagnosed that many people grieve their health as if it is a deceased loved one. At the time, I didn't think the two things could compare. Still, I'm not sure exactly how similar they are. But I do know this: a few weeks ago, in the middle of an argument with my usually kind and tolerant boyfriend, I realized how sad and angry I was and how obviously it was not his fault at all. I deeply miss my life before becoming diabetic, and I wish more than anything to be able to eat as much pasta salad as I want without thinking twice about it. But this is my life, and in every way I am grateful to have it diabetic or not.

This post is to clear the air, to start fresh and to move forward. Thanks for hanging in there for this one-time-only mega downer post...I promise to be more good natured from here on out.

Things that happened this weekend: painted some, hung out with kiddos all day, got new running shoes. Also, folded laundry. A LOT of laundry.

Overall, I'd say it was a success.

Fall Harvest

I have a new job.

My last job, you might remember, was one I'd been doing for forever quite a long time. I loved it for many reasons, most of them revolving around the fact that my boss was most likely the best boss I'll ever be lucky enough to have in my entire lifetime. Also, free meals were available. The problem with the last job, though, was that it wasn't exactly an adult job, as in, it didn't really pay the bills. It was a high school job, an in-between job, a living-at-home job, but not a GROWN-UP job, even if I really wanted it to be and tried pitifully hard to stay working there as long as possible.

The new job isn't exactly a GROWN-UP job either, but I like to think of it as qualifying because it fulfills some major requirements like paying rent and allowing me to have some savings and forcing me to get up earlier than I would like to. It's a nanny job, or really, "daycare", but to be frank I'm not a huge fan of the idea of working at a daycare so I'd prefer to call it "childcare" or whatever else you might be able to think of without conjuring the idea of kids picking their boogers and wiping them on unknowing, overwhelmed adults who are just trying to change one damn diaper without collapsing into a mental breakdown. Sure, there's a lot of literal shit and screaming involved in my day-to-day activities, but I do love kids and I'm trying to visualize this period of time as a stepping stone, and perhaps a motivational tool, to help push me out into the bigger, scarier (well, that depends on your perspective) world of actual careers I might enjoy. The one bonus is that Tom's sister is my new boss, and she's pretty wonderful and also great to work for. And also I'm assistant-teaching some kid's art classes, which is lovely and extra-gratifying because they don't involve snot, drool or diapers whatsoever.

To be sure, I've been trying to get the most out of my weekends, which are also majority snot-free.

The thing is, though, that I have a lot of beautiful pictures of apples that I took this week at my parents' house. This whole post was supposed to be about them, not my slightly somber job situation, so sorry about that.

Sometimes it seems that exactly when you have reached a point of satisfaction, the world explains that there are still so many obstacles to climb over before you are allowed to stop moving. At least there are tomatoes to look at.

COULD BE LIFTED

If you knew the end of your story, nothing on

any page--not one of your dramas, could bother

you as much.

If you knew the glorious end of your journey,

at least half of your attention could be lifted

from anything you can now focus on that may

cause you pain.

His hand is like that, when it is realized near,

it will always turn your gaze in the direction 

of more light. 

-Hafiz (translation by Daniel Ladinsky)