Last night I cut desserts, arranged them on trays in an attractive fashion, and mingled. My mother is the new activities chair and I am in town. After the fireside, refreshments were served. I brought to the task what I learned in my few short months in a new relief society calling where catering figures into our duties. I am pleased with my new-found knowledge and rejoiced in spreading this wealth to a desert with the goal of improving life as we know it and making things lovely.
About 8 to 10 were scheduled to bring desserts. I waited in anticipation, trays and knives ready. My mother made a square pan of Ghiradelli brownies from the package. I showered it with powdered sugar and cut them into 1-inch squares. The first offering to arrive was a paper plate with oatmeal-y chocolate chip cookies covered in foil. A homely and homey start. I hoped for variety and thanked the giver.
The next time I turned around there were two 9 x 13s with frosted cakes. One a spice cake with cream colored frosting and one an orange cake with white frosting and much moisture. I worried how to cut these and arrange the pieces on the trays. I gave the orange cake squares center stage for its color. The spice cake suffered in comparison only because it was not exciting (dull brown) and most likely from a box. Short shrift. (We dished more out later but it was not the first picked for the team.)
We came out grandly with a eye-pleasing variety: baby cream puffs filled unfortunately with heavy raspberry frosting (not a light cream as desired), Hello Dollys that were excellent in every way (baked in a jelly roll pan for thinner crust), tiny chocolate chip cookies, chocolate and caramel cookies bars, mint brownies. I sampled a bit of each. May I explain the fascination? I have always been taken with the results of a pot luck. One day an important article will be published.
In a traditional mealtime potluck, the baby cream puff maker equates to a main dish. Someone who knows not everyone has time or inclination and who delivers each time. My friend Andrea is a main dish person with a middle name of Chicken Casserole. I enjoyed the tiny cc cookies for their cunning size and charm. Improving the visual with a change of shape or size. Easy and important. The maker is a beautiful person I don’t know well . . . we seem to have become friends in recent visits. She lived in NYC until recently but is from this area. She is now back and misses her friends who were so interesting . . . artists and doctors (a delightful pairing, no?). A husband and small baby in tow who is christened something lovely and foreign. I enjoy this quick and wonderful interchange. It is always good to know there is someone who understands who is seated on the other side of the room.
Bar cookies must be my favorites. I enjoy them all. One cannot tell if our efforts were overwhelmingly restorative but I believe they were. Someone complimented the serving platters and trappings brought from home. Another praised the small size of the desserts. I suggested they have cheese, crackers, veggies, and dill dip next time.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Summer Solstice
Unlike most people in the U.S., I'm heading away from the shore. Approximately 475 miles away if the odometer serves. My nephew's birthday is on Sunday. He will be one. We are all gathering for cupcakes. The next day, Donn and Nancy will be there and we'll celebrate once more with a baseball cake and gifties.
Armed for the journey: Eggs, Beans and Crumpets by P.G. Wodehouse read by Jonathan Cecil. (I was so taken with Young Men in Spats that I'm giving this one a go.) Sesame crackers, seedless red grapes, celery, m&ms, a fig bar, and water.
Most looked forward to stop on the way: Williams-Sonoma outlet in Primm, NV.
Deck chair leisure: Middlemarch (all 747 pages of it) by George Eliot and The Sea Runners by Ivan Doig (a wildcard). I have a respectable paperback issue from the library and the font and layout are intensely magnetic to me. I want to read it no matter what it says.
Recipes we may sample: ranch dressing (this region is known to use only ranch; I want to see what they think of a housemade version), sweet corn salsa, watermelon sorbet, a variety of chocolate cakes (in view of my mother's birthday on 7-7-07), alice waters's coleslaw (yummers), coconut milk pudding rolls (on a special occasion morning).
Baggage: gently used clothes (laundry), cameras, a hanging pocket I am going to paint and turn into a spice rack, the makings of memory books for Bodie and Maysen (both birthdays), a summer wrap for an evening venture, an ice cream maker (they have one but I am used to mine), lemons, red pepper flakes, honey, balsamic vinegar, pineapple shampoo and conditioner, a choice of swimsuits (I finally let go the old rags of yesteryear and paid several successful visits to Marshalls and Ross).
Entertainment: Ratatouille, The Matchmaker (at the Shakespearean Festival . . . yes, I know it's not Shakespearean), Joseph . . . Dreamcoat, water fun, watching Bodie, holding Bodie, smiling at Bodie.
What is your favorite route to travel?
Armed for the journey: Eggs, Beans and Crumpets by P.G. Wodehouse read by Jonathan Cecil. (I was so taken with Young Men in Spats that I'm giving this one a go.) Sesame crackers, seedless red grapes, celery, m&ms, a fig bar, and water.
Most looked forward to stop on the way: Williams-Sonoma outlet in Primm, NV.
Deck chair leisure: Middlemarch (all 747 pages of it) by George Eliot and The Sea Runners by Ivan Doig (a wildcard). I have a respectable paperback issue from the library and the font and layout are intensely magnetic to me. I want to read it no matter what it says.
Recipes we may sample: ranch dressing (this region is known to use only ranch; I want to see what they think of a housemade version), sweet corn salsa, watermelon sorbet, a variety of chocolate cakes (in view of my mother's birthday on 7-7-07), alice waters's coleslaw (yummers), coconut milk pudding rolls (on a special occasion morning).
Baggage: gently used clothes (laundry), cameras, a hanging pocket I am going to paint and turn into a spice rack, the makings of memory books for Bodie and Maysen (both birthdays), a summer wrap for an evening venture, an ice cream maker (they have one but I am used to mine), lemons, red pepper flakes, honey, balsamic vinegar, pineapple shampoo and conditioner, a choice of swimsuits (I finally let go the old rags of yesteryear and paid several successful visits to Marshalls and Ross).
Entertainment: Ratatouille, The Matchmaker (at the Shakespearean Festival . . . yes, I know it's not Shakespearean), Joseph . . . Dreamcoat, water fun, watching Bodie, holding Bodie, smiling at Bodie.
What is your favorite route to travel?
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Where Everybody Knows Your Name
I held out for years. I thought of the gym as a group sport, an easy outlet for the weak who really didn’t want to exercise, and perhaps worse, a place to meet people. I always knew it wasn’t for me.
I started jogging with my dad. We went outdoors, not far from home. Why would I pay a monthly fee to exercise indoors? Well, rocket scientists, I wouldn’t. Indoors sports is not my thing. Hence, my refusal to join the WNBA, Ice Capades, and gymnastic squads. Jogging alone outdoors is time to reflect, to not think, so that running becomes breathing. For body and spirit. Canvassing the earth.
I am a simpleton in that I don’t need to acquire much (in comparison to those in North America). I have always loved the idea of carrying around everything you own on your back. Perhaps this dates from following the pioneers and living in the West. Sadly, I own far more than I could pack on my back but my conscience tells me not to buy most things and to keep it small and if possible light. Of course, I love to pack light too. With jogging, one requires minimal equipment and is not dependent on a machine.
A couple years ago, I had an injury. Plantar faciitis in my right foot. It was a long haul. I couldn’t do any weight bearing exercise (walking was painful) and told myself firmly not to loose my mind. I tried everything: physical therapy, ultrasound, cortisone shot, aspirin, hot and cold water, a night splint, inserts for my shoes, acupuncture for about six to eight months, and rest.
I knew it was inevitable. I had to join a gym for any exercise. I had to sit and bike. I hoped the elliptical machine would work but it was too much weight bearing at first. I sat and biked with the same three each morning. There was G, a woman who showed up in full make-up and talked like a NY dame. She came from Rochester and spent the evenings and weekends gardening and seeing a number of men. She always ended in the hot tub with a glass of wine. Sometimes she showered before she left for work, sometimes she didn’t. This produced some comment among the locals.
The other two were sane men, T and D. D has two children, a boy and girl. Both have begun college since our meeting. I fear he is now experiencing marital difficulties. He has a voice that carries (because he talks loud) and is a very pleasant fellow. I think he is an engineer. T is a finance guy but his calling card is his responsible nature and advanced vocalization of right and wrong. He is an active Catholic with four children. The daughter married two years ago. G threated to show up in her pajamas. Of course none of us were invited and it was all in good fun. He is an excellent father and husband and travels a lot for his work. He works from home. T brings the newspaper every morning and comments on the articles. D makes jokes. G (until she stopped coming) told stories full of innuendo and complained about her daughters and her job.
It was like a club and we called each other by name and wished each other good morning and later, good day. We all sat and pedaled in the early morning. After some time, I drifted away, able to be upright little by little.
Those of us who go early in the morning know each other. There is T and K (married), L and R (married and neighbors), J who is also in yoga and went to aesthetician school last year, K who works for the school board, S who complains about squeaky equipment, and a whole lot more.
During this time I also started yoga classes (at the gym). They have helped me to no end and I embrace it now (it took me a while to love).
We call each other by name. From the co-owners to the trainers, the clients and the instructors. My idea was to get in and get out, preferably addressing no one. A solitary endeavor. I was wrong. It has been a life shaping experience. I love my gym.
I started jogging with my dad. We went outdoors, not far from home. Why would I pay a monthly fee to exercise indoors? Well, rocket scientists, I wouldn’t. Indoors sports is not my thing. Hence, my refusal to join the WNBA, Ice Capades, and gymnastic squads. Jogging alone outdoors is time to reflect, to not think, so that running becomes breathing. For body and spirit. Canvassing the earth.
I am a simpleton in that I don’t need to acquire much (in comparison to those in North America). I have always loved the idea of carrying around everything you own on your back. Perhaps this dates from following the pioneers and living in the West. Sadly, I own far more than I could pack on my back but my conscience tells me not to buy most things and to keep it small and if possible light. Of course, I love to pack light too. With jogging, one requires minimal equipment and is not dependent on a machine.
A couple years ago, I had an injury. Plantar faciitis in my right foot. It was a long haul. I couldn’t do any weight bearing exercise (walking was painful) and told myself firmly not to loose my mind. I tried everything: physical therapy, ultrasound, cortisone shot, aspirin, hot and cold water, a night splint, inserts for my shoes, acupuncture for about six to eight months, and rest.
I knew it was inevitable. I had to join a gym for any exercise. I had to sit and bike. I hoped the elliptical machine would work but it was too much weight bearing at first. I sat and biked with the same three each morning. There was G, a woman who showed up in full make-up and talked like a NY dame. She came from Rochester and spent the evenings and weekends gardening and seeing a number of men. She always ended in the hot tub with a glass of wine. Sometimes she showered before she left for work, sometimes she didn’t. This produced some comment among the locals.
The other two were sane men, T and D. D has two children, a boy and girl. Both have begun college since our meeting. I fear he is now experiencing marital difficulties. He has a voice that carries (because he talks loud) and is a very pleasant fellow. I think he is an engineer. T is a finance guy but his calling card is his responsible nature and advanced vocalization of right and wrong. He is an active Catholic with four children. The daughter married two years ago. G threated to show up in her pajamas. Of course none of us were invited and it was all in good fun. He is an excellent father and husband and travels a lot for his work. He works from home. T brings the newspaper every morning and comments on the articles. D makes jokes. G (until she stopped coming) told stories full of innuendo and complained about her daughters and her job.
It was like a club and we called each other by name and wished each other good morning and later, good day. We all sat and pedaled in the early morning. After some time, I drifted away, able to be upright little by little.
Those of us who go early in the morning know each other. There is T and K (married), L and R (married and neighbors), J who is also in yoga and went to aesthetician school last year, K who works for the school board, S who complains about squeaky equipment, and a whole lot more.
During this time I also started yoga classes (at the gym). They have helped me to no end and I embrace it now (it took me a while to love).
We call each other by name. From the co-owners to the trainers, the clients and the instructors. My idea was to get in and get out, preferably addressing no one. A solitary endeavor. I was wrong. It has been a life shaping experience. I love my gym.
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