Morning Glory Muffins (aka Better than Bran Muffins)

This is another recipe from my old friend, Heidi Huser. These muffins are as delicious today as they were 20 years ago. Lots of fiber from carrots, apples, and whole wheat flour. Enjoy!

Morning Glory Muffins

1 cup sugar
1/2 cup oil
3 eggs
2 tsp vanilla
2 cups flour (WW pastry flour works well)
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp ginger

2 cups grated carrots
1/2 cup raisins
3/4 raw apple, diced or grated

Combine sugar, oil, egss, and vanilla in a large bowl; set aside. In another bowl, sift together remaining dry ingredients. Add to liquid ingredients and stir. Gently fold in carrots, raisins, and raw apple. Spoon into greased muffin tins about 2/3 full. (Cupcake papers make clean-up a breeze!)

Bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes.

These are so good, I've been asked to make another batch today!

Bran Muffin Purgatory

A few weeks ago, I decided I would be good to my gut and make a batch of bran muffins. The plan was to eat bran muffins for breakfast instead of my beloved scones.

So I found a recipe and made enough bran muffins to feed an army. All that roughage takes up space in the mixing bowl as well as your colon. For the recipe I used, my biggest mixing bowl was nearly not big enough.

They tasted just ok. Perfectly nutritious and good for me ... There was just no JOY in eating those things. I missed the blueberry scones--some things are just grandfathered in.

The best way to describe what it felt like eating those bran muffins would be The Loaf.


Illinois Prison Nutraloaf

This American Life did a show on behavior modification (Sorry--I can't find it to link). One of the stories was about The Loaf given to prisoners who exhibit bad behavior. They get nothing but The Loaf to eat until their attitude improves. Slate.com did a story on The Loaf --to give you an idea of what I'm talking about. Perfectly nutritious and good-for-you, just not very appealing. Just the threat of eating The Loaf is enough to bring some prisoners into line.

No more bran muffins for me. I'll get my fiber from carrot cake and pumpkin pie!

Nostalgia for Sesame St.

On a recent work / school holiday, Oliver and I were eating our breakfasts at the dining room table.

I said, "We could watch Sesame St. today."

Oliver said, "Sesame St. makes me feel nostalgic."

I asked him if he knew what "nostalgic" meant. He gave me a good definition. He did know ... It makes me feel nostalgic, too. Sesame St. started when I was a kid in the 1970s.

And then we watched Sesame St. for old time's sake.

Beauty Visits

This is a photo from the Wikimedia Commons. The description on its description page there is shown below. Commons is a freely licensed media file repository. You can help.

This morning, we had a little visitor "working" the morning glories outside the window where I have my morning tea. Lovely!

It was the first time I've seen hummingbirds here. So I put out the glass hummingbird feeder for them. It's getting cooler, so I suspect they are gearing up for their fall migration.

Remembering Grappa Eddie

Grappa Eddie died on Thursday, August 20, 2009. He spent his last week in Hospice with the family gathered around. We were looking at pictures and laughing and remembering his adventurous life--or at least the stories he told about it. I hope to post more of hist stories here in the near future ...

I will remember many afternoons spent sitting around the kitchen table listing to his stories. He had a million of them!

I will remember plum dumplings every fall. This is a traditional Bohemian feast. Gramma Pickles actually made them, but Grappa always won the contest for who could eat the most.

I will remember Grappa taking my brother and me fishing with looonnnggg cane poles at Rabes Lake probably before I was even in school. Fishing was important to him.

Grappa drove a yellow school bus for many years. After long days at school, I can remember speeding down 5th Ave. Road at 80 miles an hour. For years, I actually thought there was a separate speed limit for school buses!

I will remember bailing hay on the hottest days of summer, on ridiculously steep hills. My brother and I were still pretty small then. We could pile the bales 2 or 3 high, but Grappa would have to stop and re-stack the bales to get more on the wagons.

After I learned to quilt, I decided that I would make a quilt for Grappa Eddie. When I shared my intentions, everyone in my family said "Why do you want to make a quilt for Grappa? He's not going to be around much longer." This was in 2004. My mom took care of the quilting and the binding. When we gave it to him, we made sure he understood that this quilt was to be used, and not put away and "saved" to keep it nice.

I found some orange blossom fabric and fell in love with the colors and the textures. It reminded me of Grappa. He had a talent for picking the best boxes of Indian River grapefruit and oranges from the travelling truck drivers who sold them on the road in northern Wisconsin. Grappa knew how to pick the fruit at the peak of ripeness, sweet, and fresh, and juicy. He knew what he was doing!

The pattern is called Northwind, however, I softened it to "Orange Blossom Breeze" because Grappa didn't tolerate the cold as he did in his younger days. This quilt was my way of keeping him warm with memories of his cross-country drives down south and the sweet, fresh fruit of Florida--where everyone has a fruit tree in their yard!

After Grappa moved into the nursing home 2 years ago, Gramma returned the quilt to me. They decided the detergents in the nursing home would be too harsh on the quilt. She gave it back to me--it still smelled like their house. Now I get to keep the quilt and remember Grappa Eddie.

I Can Still Cook! : Greek Cheesburger

Greek Cheeseburger (with feta and cumin) topped with Tatziki (yogurt, cucumber, and garlic).
Side order of "fries."

Keune veggies utilized :
Cucumber, potato, greens, garlic

And it was tasty, too!

Bristol Renaisance Faire 2009

A Griffin atop one of the shops.


A lovely day with Lee and Vicki. Lee had a knack for finding these quiet little alcoves.


The attraction of the day was (there for this weekend only) Tartanic, a Scottish Bagpipe and Drum band. Wonderful! High energy. We caught all their performances that day. I even bought a CD and got their autographs. God I love Scotland! Yeah--those are real Highland Pipes in the picture. And they know how to play them, too. And they're all wearing Kilts.


Highland Bagpipes and the rising sun. Tartanic : also known as Men without Pants.


This little elf was watching Tartanic with us.


Even managed to catch some of the May Pole Dance.


I also got to ride an elephant--briefly. Her name was Lady Essex. She's 39 years old, so we're about the same age.

Here's what I purchased : a Mug O' the Woods Mug made by Doug "Doc" Rice. These beautiful and rugged mugs are hand cut from logs, many with the bark still on, and many with moss and lichens, then dipped in polyurathane. Since I am the kind of person who takes pictures of tree bark just to study the color and textures, I was really drawn to these mugs. My Dad would love them, too--as he loves his woods.


Anyone know what kind of wood this is? I forgot to ask ... I was so tickled to find one that fit my hand just right, that I wasn't worried about the kind of wood it was.



An Encounter :
Very nice and unusual pieces, so I bought one at the end of the day. While I was there trying them all out -- I had to find one that fit my hand -- I got into a very nice conversation with a young man who I imagine looked like CL at that age with long, dark, wavy hair (before I knew him). He was very pretty, with a few Avalon braids and a kilt. I'd seen him throughout the day--something Dream Academy about him ... He's another Tartanic Groupie, like me, Lee, and Vicki. He came up from Chicago, and is there most weekends. Would love to just get on a circuit going from Ren Faire to Ren Faire. I told him he could make that happen, many people do just that. He was going to start working for the Mug o' the Woods Man. All the while we're talking, I was touching / feeling /trying every mug in the shop to find one that felt comfortable in my hands. So many beautiful mugs -- Rugged. Natural--like a walk in the woods, minus the mosquitoes. The owner had stepped out for a moment. I had finally found the mug I wanted and set it on the counter, and asked if the young man could take my money. He could take cash, but was not yet checked out on plastic yet. I said, "Well, If I stay a little longer, I'll probably find something else I have to go home with. My Dad would love these. He loves his woods." Just then the owner came back and I was able to purchase my mug. Then this young man gave me a stalk of purple-blue orchids. He said, "I'll give you this flower, too. I've been carrying it around all day, looking for someone to give it to--the right person to give it to. The colors match your dress. Blue and green and purple."

I hope I said "Thank you. Every woman loves getting flowers!" I think I laughed and said, "I've got the dress! I'll see you at the drum jam," and I walked away with my mug and his flowers.

That was so sweet! Made my day, made me wish I was younger, too. (Actually no--I'm much more comfortable with myself now, than I was at 20. I'll stick with my real age.) I probably would have talked with him more, but the end of the day drum jam was about to start. I haven't been able to be part of that drum jam since before Oliver! It was a great day! He made a memory for me. ;-)

I wonder if he knows how talking with him and him choosing me for his flower made my day? As I was walking away, of course I thought of all sorts of other things to say to him/to ask him, to encourage him to live his dreams--whatever they may be. Had he been to Scotland? (He was wearing a blue and green kilt ...) Go! It's like Home! Do you sing or play an instrument? Act? What else do you like about the Faire? If you're working in a shop all day, you won't be able to get out and about the Faire ...

In Your Eyes ...

I think this might be the Jeffrey Gaines (not Ben Harper) version of the Peter Gabriel classic.

This has got to be one of the most beautiful love songs of all time --whether you interpret it as love between 2 people, 2 friends, or on a spiritual level. It works all ways. Even better that you can dance to it!

This goes out to all the Anchors in my life : Sandy, CL, J, SKS, Caroline, Dottie, DO, Sinden, DMJ.

In your eyes, I am complete. Thank you.
In my eyes, YOU are complete.
Thank you for sharing this journey with me. I'm glad you're here with me.

The light, the heat--that's the spark Albert Schweitzer talks about : "At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us."--Albert Schweitzer.

You've all rekindled a spark for me at some point. May I have done the same for you.
Love,
M.

Journey to Person-hood : Leaving Madison

In 1999, I left Madison, WI, after living there for nearly 10 years in my 20s.

That last week, I attended a lecture with Harold Scheub, The African Storyteller. (He's a frequent guest on Jean Feraca's radio show, Here on Earth : Radio without Borders.) My undergraduate degree was in African Literature and Languages, so I had a particular appreciation for this subject matter, and this particular speaker.

So I got there and sat down. CL was there, too. I sat down, and saw at the front of the room, AS, wicked witch of my undergraduate years. She had been my Yoruba teacher for 2-1/2 years and my adviser for 3 years. I was an A-student except for her classes. She apparently thought I was an moron because I couldn't pick up this language that had absolutely no links to American English. (It'd be like learning Chinese to an American's ears.) She was hard on me in those years--a tormentor. I just tried to muddle through and keep my head down until I could graduate, and be out of her clutches.

This story requires more set-up, so bear with me ... I was accepted into Library School immediately after graduation, but I decided to defer until a later time. I had such a hard time as an undergraduate with my advisor/mentor, that I wanted to re-group and learn to stand up for myself before I embarked on Library School. So I waited 3 years, worked as a clerk in a bank, got my head together, and re-built my self-esteem. I decided to re-apply to Library School in January 1996, and was again accepted without a problem. I was ready. In March, the bank decided to down-size, and my job got the ax. It was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. In July, I got a job working in a hospital library, much more interesting work, making twice as much money as the bank clerk job, in half as much time. And I was learning practical things that applied to my Master's Degree.

Library School started in the fall, and was a totally different experience. It was good--fun. I'd do it all over again. One of my Library School Professors, Anne Lundin, became a good friend. I loved her creative writing assisngments, and her Storytelling class (which counted towards the required (and dreaded) public speaking requirement).

So that last week in Madison, I attended this Harold Scheub-African Storyteller lecture ... and AS is there at the front table. I remember thinking with racing heart, "What do I do? Do I run out the door? ... I hope she doesn't recognize me. I hope she doesn't recognize me. Of all people I wanted to leave behind in Madison, it was her ..." I don't think I heard a single word that Prof. Scheub said in that lecture, though I'm sure it was inspiring--bigger than life--as his lectures always were.

Soon after the lecture began, I noticed Anne Lundin was also there. (She also had a great appreciation for story, remember.) In the Storytelling class one day she had said this :

"Whenever you're in a tough place,
think of yourself as the heroine in a fairy tale.
You'll be journeying through the forest alone.
And there'll be people there to help you along the way,
and who will give you encouragement.
And you'll discover treasures you never knew were there.
This is a precious time."

I have always remembered her saying this, and at that moment, I thought : I can handle this. CL is here at my side; Anne Lundin is here; I'm not the same doormat I was as an undergrad. I had come a long way in those 5-6 years since AS. Even though my legs were shaking at the end of the lecture, my heart was racing, I went up and spoke with Anne. AS was nearby, and fortunately, she did not recognize me anymore--at least she didn't act like she did. And I thought, "That's fine with me. I don't need to waste my time with people who treated me like dirt." I didn't say anything to her either. Story was (and still is) something I am passionate about. Anne Lundin knew me as a good student, knew me as a person, and knew I was already a good Librarian. I didn't have to speak Yoruba to do it.

Going to that last lecture, my last week in Madison, seeing those certain important people in my life come together in the same space at the same time--was the culmination of my 10 years in Madison. Had I learned what I'd gone there to learn? I don't mean academics and degrees. This was the ultimate test in Person-hood. And I felt like I passed. I had finally graduated! I had stood up for myself with grace and poise--thanks to a little help from my friends.

Looking back on that experience, it felt very Wizard of Oz-like. I was seeing my arch-nemesis for a final show-down. There she was : AS, the Wicked Witch of West Africa and Anne Lundin, the Good Witch of Graduate School there to help and support me. CL, as the Lion, Scarecrow, and Tin Man all rolled into one. I guess Harold Scheub was the Wizard.

It was a precious time.

Journeys : Grand Central Station- NYC

This week at my Covenant Group, our topic is Journeys. I've been thinking about Grand Central Train Station in NYC.
In the early 1990s, I had a good wait there before I got on a commuter train for CT to visit my long-time friend J. I remember just loving to sit in that great hall, watching people going by ... Just people in motion on the way FROM somewhere TO somewhere.

Everyone was in motion (except me at that moment), but there were lulls, too. It was like being in a cathedral with that wonderful high ceiling (I think the term is ascension--the architecture lifts you up) and the light and open spaces--except there was no oppression of religion there--none of that baggage. This was a PUBLIC space. This is what America is about, I thought : Co-existence.

I went up/out onto the street to get a bite to eat. That, too, was wonderful--I was amazed at the sheer diversity there : Italians, Greeks, Lebanese, Thai, Vietnamese--so many languages, and cultures, and foods. It was wonderful to see so many 1st generation immigrants selling ethnic foods (the real thing!). I loved it! All the smells, all the accents, all those characters, all those people. I had thought I'd be terrified of being mugged or swindled in NYC, but I was fine.

I know I wrote a letter there, waiting for my next train. I felt renewed having gotten to rest there. The train trip in from Chicago was not at all the comfortable and romantic train ride with beautiful vistas I had imagined it would be. My ticket was coach. It's not at all comfortable to spend the night in one of those coach train seats. Our train car was not designed for overnight trips--but that's where we were. Parts of the track were in need of repair so we couldn't go more than 35 mph for long stretches. Train travel is so different in France and Scotland and Japan! The US has invested in the highway system at the expense of Railways over the years. That trip was a huge disappointment to me--until I saw Gran Central Station!

Last year, I saw an episode of American Experience where they did a whole show on Grand Central Train Station. [You can actually watch it at this link!] I was thrilled to hear that other people felt the same way I did.

[From the AE show:] Rita Gabis: "There's something about Grand Central. There's such an echo of the past there of journey there. It's amazes me still every time I come into the station.

There's the faces of people who are waiting, of people who are hurrying, who are looking forward to where they're going or maybe resigned or tired; strangers to the city or so used to the city they're blind to what's around them.

It's such a beautiful metaphor for all the arrivals and departures that really make up the moments of our lives."