Saturday, December 12, 2015

Nurture

I deeply appreciate the milder weather this December. Life has been full (adding house projects to the holiday season may be the last straw), and I have been feeling behind for the last six month. The milder temperatures seem like a gift from nature, offering up an incentive to get outside and walk or rake out a few more leaves from the flower beds, anything to breathe in fresh air and nurture the soul.
The need for tender loving care has never been so evident to me. Without it, our stress level continues to rise, our exhaustion dominates our well being, and personal relationships suffer. Of course, nurturing can mean very different things to people. I can't tell you how much I love it when my husband cooks a meal or how rejuvenating a long nap on the weekend can be for me.
I have been observing the nurturing that even occurs between animals. I appreciate how the male cardinal will sit side-by-side with the female cardinal on the feeder and pass seed directly into her beak. Or, how the squirrels groom one another outside the patio doors before tumbling away and tussling to race up the tree in some intricate form of primal communication and domination.
Even Freddy demands his needs be met, when he feels under the weather. A periodically recurring virus will rear its ugly head and his ears will become hot for a day or two. Then, this feline, who often feigns disinterest, follows me around the house, waiting for me to sit so that he can jump into my lap and find some comfort.
So,I am reminded this holiday season to nurture myself and those I love, especially in this process of refurbishment. Before the snow begins to fly, demanding we bundle up in layers of winter gear to depart the house for even the quickest errand, I will try to find moments each day for myself and those I love -- the gift that won't be found in a box wrapped with a bow but does make spirits merry and bright in the most authentic way.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Being

Lessons from Last Night's Storm:

Despite my best intentions, I have been quiet here on A Measured Word the last few weeks. In large part, it is a simple response to the time of year which seems to pull me in opposite directions with urgency. Physically, I am engaged in frenetic activity with the holidays approaching, house projects, clean up outdoors, and all the usual commotion and demands of family life. Mentally, I want to settle into a peaceful hibernation with winter approaching but find my thoughts jostled like the leaves blowing about outside.
Then, the Paris attacks occurred, and I have been trying to put my thoughts into context, feeling battered by the realization that the world is once again on the cusp of great upheaval. Last night, my older daughter's coughing woke me around 4:00 a.m. She is finally turning the corner on a terrible chest cold. After handing off the cough syrup, I lay in bed and heard the wind gusting outside, foreshadowing today's rain and drop in temperatures. Somehow, I was able to gather my thoughts.
One thing I appreciate about this old, brick house is how it stands the test of time. It is solid beneath my feet. Its thick walls buttress my family from the elements and contain a history, including refurbished bricks from the first NYC sewer system built in the mid-1800's. So, even as forces as great as gravity and weather and time work to return our home to nature, with a bit of upkeep and maintenance it will remain steadfast. Likewise, even as the dark forces of our humanity spread destruction, loss, and hatred, I will remain steadfast as well.
I need to continue to remind myself of what I know, what I believe, what I live. I will rely on the legacy of strong men and women in my lineage. I will rest on and return the love and strength of my husband and children. I will roll up my sleeves to spread hope and peace even in ways that may seem far too small and inconsequential. I will remember that each individual has a story which when heard brings understanding and empathy. Rather than react in kind and allow fear to own me, I will simply breathe in deeply first, open myself to goodness, and simply be.
Beauty remains, if we take the time and effort to see it, really see it. Amazing what nature teaches.

Saturday, October 31, 2015

October

October has been exceptional here this year. It has been as if the force of nature is a siren, singing our names to come outside and marvel with such force one cannot resist. Fairly seasonal temperatures. Days overcast with rain; days of brilliant blue and buoyant white. Even the moon hung low and full last week, enjoying the view from space as we looked up and felt so small but also part of a much greater whole beyond words.
I can't find any data to support my hypothesis, but I swear the colors of autumn are deeper and richer this year. Even the trees seem to know it themselves and have been clinging to their offerings until the very last moment, allowing layers of yellow, orange, and red to paint the most amazing collage. As a result, I didn't even mind it yesterday when a passing front brought light rain and gusty winds, because I drove around town on errands enveloped in swirls of color.
Life has slowed a bit as my older daughter submits the first applications for college admission and my husband completes a very long run of teaching and grading at the university. We have been given some space to breath, and I can physically feel the reprieve even as I breathe in the brisk autumn air, almost breathe in the beauty itself, as we finally have time to walk together. My only wish is to somehow hold onto this feeling of awe and gratitude and hope.
However, no words or photos or video or blog post can record October appropriately for it is too complex and multidimensional. Perhaps, the most we can hold onto is the knowledge that to live life in the present, no matter the demands of a full life and our attempts to refurbish its edges, may be the wisest and precious of all endeavors. So, a shout of welcome to November. May I appreciate your days as October taught me.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Unharvested

"Life does not seem to present itself to me for my convenience, to box itself up nicely so I can write about it with wisdom and a point to make before putting it on a shelf somewhere. Now, at this stage of my life, I understand just enough about life to understand that I do not understand much of anything." (38-39) Small Victories by Anne Lamott


"You know all those things I've always wanted to do? I should go do them. What am I waiting for? What are you waiting for?" Life has been really hitting me on the head with this realization lately. I feel  as if I am standing under a tree of ripe apples and one by one they fall and hit me on the head to remind me that time is passing and I have no control over anything at all.

So, I should really take a first step to refurbish this life and not wait. I don't understand much of anything, but I do believe in one thing: life is all about the process of living, of evolving, of trying, of growing, of learning, of connecting, of harvesting. I know that I haven't been given all of the privileges I have to simply sit under the apple tree as the fruit waits to be harvested when I can get up and harvest myself.

Once the apples are harvested, the making can happen. Bake pies and cakes and strudel. (Man, I love strudel!) Make sauce to can and gift. Slice and dip with your loved ones. Take a bite into the skin of an apple and let the juice dribble down your chin as the tart sweetness overwhelms you. Of course, I might fail or change course or run out of time and leave many of the apples unharvested, because life does not happen for my convenience. 

Then, Robert Frost reminds me again that leaving some apples unharvested, deviating from our stated plan, can be sweet, too. Pick. Refurbish. Dig deep. Be present. Be authentic. Learn about yourself. Learn about life. Fill the soul. Fill the larder. Pass on with passion what will be left behind. Unharvested, yet oh so full.

Unharvested
by Robert Frost


A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
And come to leave the routine road
And look for what had made me stall,
There sure enough was an apple tree
That had eased itself of its summer load,
And of all but its trivial foliage free,
Now breathed as light as a lady's fan.
For there had been an apple fall
As complete as the apple had given man.
The ground was one circle of solid red.

May something go always unharvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft. 




Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Community


I often sat on the front porch over the summer months. On quiet mornings, I would catch up with my husband over a cup of coffee. Late afternoons, I sometimes made the time to read in the wrought iron chairs underneath the shade of the towering pin oak.

Several times, a lone bird landed just above me or flew close overhead to grab my attention from printed words on the page. The hawk that nests in the towering pine across the street came to perch and hunt, keeping the burgeoning chipmunk and vole population on high alert. A pileated woodpecker of startling color and size fed off the dead branches above, long claws digging into the bark and longer beak pecking loudly.

Once a blue heron flew above with long legs outstretched behind, and I felt blessed as if brushed by the gods. I even saw a bald eagle circling above, enjoying the view from the heights of the gorges that tower over the glacial lake below where the water in the stream next to the house eventually arrives.

In the safety and leisure of the summer months, each bird traveled alone to feed or hunt or monitor territory likely with young nearby loud with demands. Now, the birds are gathering together to form flocks which swoop together on a canvas of blue sky, forming three-dimensional shapes to delight the imagination. They land in trees nearby with a ruckus, clearing berries from the bushes before moving on.

Suddenly, the need has become urgent as the line at the bird feeder attests. The cooling temperatures and dwindling light signal the need for all of us to gather like the birds. The leaves gently fall or shower down in shades of red and yellow and land in piles blown to the end of the drive or into the corners of the stone walls. The clouds are gathering and lingering to soak the ground all day long rather than race through with strong winds as the passing storms of summer are apt to do.

I find the same is true for me. All my efforts and endeavors these days revolve around gathering, preparing for the well-being of my family and the camaraderie of community when days are sure to be laden with harsher tones and a vulnerability not so easily denied as other times of the year. I can and freeze and store provisions. I pack up cooler clothes and linens and replace the drawers, closets, and shelves with warmer gear of all sorts required by a species whose "fur" evolution had never intended for temperatures below zero. I plan and make gifts for upcoming holiday celebrations and seek out entertainment in the form of books or movies or games to pass the time when nature forces us to slow down indoors.

No longer satisfied to pass an afternoon alone on the porch, flying solo with  a bird above, I am looking forward to something I value among the most precious gifts of this abundant and undeserved life I lead: the gathering of community. Just as the birds flock together underneath the branches of the sugar maples, I love to bring together people, who may be family, the closest of friends, or a brand new acquaintance, under our roof to support in the midst of challenges, mark the passing of time and accomplishments, and enjoy the simplest of all human interactions in a story or experience, joke or debate, touch or look.to connect us in ways not possible otherwise.

So, I have come to the foundation of what a refurbished life must continue to uphold and expand for me, the gathering of community for a greater good. I had this realization on the porch over the summer by myself and know that in order to expand upon its inspiration and allow it to take flight with the flock, I will need to mull it over and discuss it deeply with my tribe in the coming months as we hunker down together in anticipation of the first signs of another spring and robin's return.


Wednesday, September 23, 2015

House

"The house determines the day-to-day, hour-to-hour, minute-to-minute quality, colour, atmosphere, pace of one's life; it is the framework of what one does, of what one can do, and of one's relations with people." Leonard Woolf

As I refurbish an old home, I have been thinking about houses and reading about them, too. Although I don't completely agree with Virginia Woolf's husband, I do think a house is a framework within which we build a home, including all the memories assembled within its walls through the artifacts collected under its roof, the people invited within its walls, the experiences created in its rooms.


I had the opportunity of a lifetime to stay with my family and another family of friends in the Payne Mansion for two nights last weekend.


As the only guests in the 42,000 square foot mansion, the entire experience felt rather like the PBS Masterpiece series Downton Abbey.


Payne Mansion is situated on the Hudson River in the area where the Roosevelts, Vanderbilts, and Rockefellers all had summer houses.


The staff pampered us and allowed us to explore the entire house inside and out to our heart's content.


Every material used to build and decorate the house in the Beaux-Arts architectural style of the time around 1911 was brought from Europe and constructed to resemble an Italian Palazzo.


The weather was perfect every day and I enjoyed every minute, photographing numerous architectural details.


Everywhere I looked I found a visual feast of artistic delights like a wrought iron shell door handle


and ornately carved columns


and elaborate gold leafed plaster work


and unique sconces on carved wood paneling


and original and reproduction artwork in every room. 



Of course, now valued at 65 million dollars, a house of this caliber is really more a museum than a home, and I struggled to see how the owners ever felt anything but loneliness within its walls.


Perhaps this is why the house is filled with faces, companions of sorts.


In every material from wood to stone, I spotted carvings of figures,


some human,


some animal,


and some mythical.

I could never live in Payne Mansion, but I sure hope to visit again and imagine a life of leisure only available to a few.


In the meantime, I recommend a few books on houses that you might enjoy:

Friday, September 18, 2015

Brave


I have to admit that I breathed a deep sigh of relief when the girls went back to school last week and the house was completely quiet and mine for the day. As the summer comes to a close, I always long for the return to routine and nurture a deep nostalgia for school supplies with back-to-school shopping. Despite the stresses of schooling, I still appreciate the privilege and excitement of learning, something I hope to pursue my entire life in less formal ways.

After a cup of coffee, I set about to tackle the laundry and entered my younger daughter's bedroom, expecting to find a trail of dirty clothes strewn about as is her habit when the whiteboard above her bed caught my eye. She had made a reminder list for the morning of the first day of school, which included typical concerns for a thirteen-year-old girl:

  • Jean shorts and pink shirt
  • Hair?
  • Make lunch
  • Pack phone
Then, at the bottom set off in a box for emphasis, she wrote, "BE BRAVE." My younger daughter likes to write down her thoughts as much as I do and has never shied away from openly sharing her writing of stories, notes, school work, cards, songs, and more. I knew all about her anxieties about 8th grade, how once again she had been assigned to a different team from all of her close friends. My husband and I tried to bolster her up for the first day, knowing it would get better once she got there and saw that she would have no trouble managing the setting.

Still, I couldn't help but feel such joy and pride and awe at the two words, written in red ink from her hand: BE BRAVE. As an adult, I wondered how I might benefit from writing these encouraging words to myself more often. More importantly, I wondered how often I place myself in a setting or situation that challenges me enough that bravery may be called upon. Do I play it safe too often? Do I let fear get the best of me, thinking that safety is the absence of fear when the absence of fear is really stunting my growth?

Being brave is moving forward despite the fear. I know that. Now, I know that better, deeper after a reminder written by someone else, for someone else, caught me perchance and stuck. I love it when life lessons come out of nowhere and plant firmly in our souls. See, I am still learning. Let me write it here: I will BE BRAVE as I refurbish this wonderful, unexpected, and rich life. 



Monday, September 14, 2015

Sunflowers


The cool temperatures, steady rain, and blowing leaves meant I grabbed jeans and a sweatshirt over the weekend for the first time in ages as I lazed about the house. In the midst of autumn's unexpected preview, I found myself returning and holding on to an image from early August.

My daughters spent a week as counselors at a camp in the neighboring town, meaning an early a.m. drop off and mid-afternoon pick up for five days straight. To our delight, we passed two fields of sunflowers in full bloom each way. In the morning, their heads awakened with the sun to the east. By 3:30, the west beckoned the heavy blooms as daylight bent over the horizon in its slow but steady decline.

Motorists stopped to take photos or, at a minimum, slowed to prolong the view of each field bursting in yellow, and I understood why completely. The view was breathtaking in its beauty and provoked deep joy with each encounter. I began to look forward to driving back and forth each day, anticipating the fields of sunflowers just up the hill and around the bend.

Last week, I passed the fields again. Only this time, the sunflowers were brown and brittle, the blooms bent under the weight of seeds ready to let go, succumbing to their true calling. Perhaps, the sunflower seeds will be pressed into oil by the local farmer. Or, they may provide sustenance to rodents and birds of all sorts as they feed for migration or hibernation with the coming cold. Or, the seeds might find fertile soil close by or far afield to begin the cycle of life once again next spring.

I did not want to let go of my memory of August, of fields in full bloom.  I didn't want to appreciate gifts of sunflower seeds dried and shared freely, nature's abundance and cycle. And, I realized I feel the same of one phase of life now passing to the next. I still retain the photo on my screen saver of my girls not yet one and four, sitting on the bed with the younger in the arms of the older, their personalities already fully formed and jumping out from their angelic faces.

Yet, last week I took their first day of school photos, alone and together, one in the last year of high school and one in the last year of middle school. I felt a mixture of yearning for the years so quickly passed, pride in the young women standing before me, and excitement for the futures they both are yet to build.

All too soon, my daughters will move on. I will move onto the next phase of my life, too. And, I need to remind myself that the moving on is exceedingly good; only stagnation would be toxic. We will move on together not away from the core of who we are and the tie that binds us together always. I will be in awe of their beauty as their lives bloom, only the type of blossom remains unknown. In the meantime, I will appreciate the sunflower and keep memories of August close at hand.

***

In the Community Garden
Mark Doty

It's almost over now,
late summer's accomplishment,
and I can stand face to face

with this music,
eye to seed-paved eye
with the sunflowers' architecture:

such muscular leaves,
the thick stems' surge.
Though some are still

shiningly confident,
others can barely
hold their heads up;

their great leaves wrap the stalks
like lowered shields. This one
shrugs its shoulders;

this one's in a rush
to be nothing but form.
Even at their zenith,

you could see beneath the gold
the end they'd come to.
So what's the use of elegy?

If their work
is this skyrocket passage
through the world,

is it mine to lament them?
Do you think they'd want
to bloom forever?

It's the trajectory they desire—
believe me, they do
desire, you could say they are


to be this leaping
green, this bronze haze

bending down. How could they stand
apart from themselves
and regret their passing,

when they are a field
of lifting and bowing faces,
faces ringed in flames? 

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Awakening

Guest Bedroom -- Radiant Lilac

Seems we awoke from winter and went straight to summer as I have been hard at work. I have been busy painting inside and vetting contractors to do some repairs and upgrades to NOLD. This winter, my husband and I painted the guest room, including the closet,  as well as the guest bath and the central second floor bathroom.

Guest Closet -- Beach House

The bathrooms in an old house are quite challenging to paint as you cut around all the fixtures and tiling and also work to cover up previous paint jobs that were poor at best. I try to take it slow and steady with small goals each day, inching toward completion. Some days I fair better than others and get more done than anticipated, and other days don't go quite so well. I have an eye for detail and set my standards high. Still, I am progressing with one more major painting push ahead along with a fair number of small projects, detail work and accents to polish and present NOLD, fitting to a house of her grandeur.

Guest Bathroom and Second Floor Central Bath -- Hummingbird

Hot, dry weather set in after the last snowfall just over two weeks ago. As a result, buds and seeds burst forth far too quickly and spring flowers even succumbed to the heat. I could almost see the ferns grow and the irises arise from the soil. The rains of the last day seem to have arrived in time to wash away the pollen but not save the blooms. The daffodils have already shriveled up, and hellebores has seen brighter days.

So, I am trying to match my time indoors with roller in hand with time outdoors in garden gloves with trug at my side, cleaning up the beds, weeding, and planting seeds directly in the soil rather haphazardly to be honest. All the projects tire and invigorate me at the same time. I awaken with to-do-lists dancing in my head and fall asleep with gardening and home magazines in hand, finding it hard to do any substantial reading as exhaustion washes over me.

May is such a busy month for the family as the academic year at the university begins to wind down, and the calendar fills with receptions to celebrate and bid farewell. At the same time, my daughters take exams and trips and perform concerts and recitals. May is such a flurry of activity before summer slowly creeps in with its own demands and an altered pace of life.

Morning in May
Rosalind Brackenbury

Grass grows in the night
and early the mockingbirds begin
their fleet courtships over puddles,
upon wires, in the new green
of the Spanish limes.


Their white-striped wings flash
as they flirt and dive.
Wind in the chimes pulls music
from the air, the sky’s cleared
of its vast complications.


In the pause before summer,
the wild sprouting of absolutely
everything: hair, nails, the mango’s
pale rose pennants, tongues of birds
singing daylong.


Words, even, and sudden embraces,
surprising dreams and things I’d never
imagined, in all these years of living,
one more astonished awakening.

I wanted to share a few recipes for rolls that work well in the summer for hamburgers straight off the grill or sandwiches of fresh tomato, cucumber, basil, and vinaigrette, for example. I can feel the juices rolling down my chin, anticipating an awakening of taste sensations. You can make these in advance by either refrigerating the dough or freezing the baked rolls.


Never-Fail Refrigerator Rolls
Prairie Home Cooking by Judith M. Fertig

2 cups milk
½  cup granulated sugar
½  cup unsalted butter
5
½  teaspoons active dry yeast
1 teaspoon sea salt
5 to 6 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

  1. Combine milk, sugar, and butter in a saucepan and scald (not boil) over medium-high heat. Remove and cool to about 100°F
  2. Pour yeast on top and allow to proof for five minutes. Add salt and stir.
  3. Pour into the bowl of a standing mixer and add flour, one cup at a time, stirring until dough is firm. Knead the dough with the dough hook or by hand until smooth and elastic.
  4. Transfer to an oiled bowl, cover, and let rise in a warm, draft-free location until doubled in size or about one hour. (This is when you could refrigerate the dough, covered, for up to five days.)
  5. Punch down dough  and divide in half. Lightly oil two large baking sheets or cover with parchment paper. From each half of the dough, portion off 12 to 15 pieces and roll each into round balls. Place balls on prepared baking sheet.
  6. Cover and let rise in a warm, draft-free location until doubled in size or about 45 minutes.
  7. Bake at 400°F for 15 minutes or until lightly browned.
  8. Transfer to a rack to cool. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Yield: 24 to 30 rolls, depending on size

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Poetry

I couldn't let National Poetry Month pass without a poem or two on the literary form. If I connect with a poem, I see beauty, truth, and empathy in its simplest, purest form. Or, put another way, here is what poetry is to me:

Some People Think
James Laughlin

poetry should be a-
dorned or complicated I'm

not so sure I think I'll
take the simple statement

in plain speech compress-
ed to brevity I think that

will do all I want to do.


Poetry Is

Poetry is written in a conversation between the heart and the mind, when the
Work of the dual authorship pours forth like a river spilling over its banks,
Breaking the damn of intuition with each breath, each beat, each impulse until
A part of you is covered in the mud of experiences, emotions, ideas and
Flooded with sparse wording on the pathway to eternity, the topography of truth.

*****

Certainly, one could say brioche is the poetry of food. Not only does the word, French in origin, roll off the tongue but these rolls will melt in your mouth. They are rich and decadent due to the eggs and butter. You may prepare these rolls in their traditional form (with a small ball of dough on top) or in their simplest shape to suit you.

Brioche Rolls

1 tablespoon active dry yeast
½ cup lukewarm (90-to-110-degrees F) water
3 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading
½ cup whole wheat flour
¼ cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon sea salt
4 eggs
¼ cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 egg + 1 tablespoon water, beaten
Coarse sea salt, if desired

  1. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper; set aside.
  2. In a small bowl, whisk together yeast and water. Set aside until yeast becomes active and bubbly, about 10 minutes.
  3. Combine flours, sugar, and salt in the bowl of a stand mixer with a dough hook attached. Add yeast mixture and stir well to combine. Add 4 eggs, one at a time, mixing well with each addition. Add butter and knead until all ingredients well combined.
  4. Transfer dough to a lightly floured surface and knead with the heels of your hands until dough comes together to be smooth and soft, about 5 minutes.
  5. Place dough in a large, lightly greased bowl and cover loosely with a kitchen towel. Set in a warm place to rise until dough is doubled in size, about 1 hour.
  6. Divide dough into 12 equal pieces. Roll each piece firmly into a smooth, well-formed ball and place on the prepared pan, spaced equally apart. Cover loosely and let rise until doubled in size, 30 to 45 minutes.
  7. Brush tops of rolls with egg wash. Sprinkle with sea salt, if desired.
  8. Bake at 375°F until rolls are a deep golden brown color, about 20 minutes.
  9. Cool on a wire rack.
Yield: 1 dozen rolls






Saturday, April 18, 2015

Cathedral

A season left to itself will always move, however slowly, 
under its own patience, power and volition. (57) 
Consolations by David Whyte



Spring beckons from the window in the arches above my head in the library. Yes, we forgive her tardy arrival for she enshrines the true cathedral of our soul, nature and all her simple joys and full glory.


The first flowers of the year are popping up despite the fact that I haven't cleaned the beds. They work their way through the remaining leaves from last fall's drop to surprise and delight.


Hope multiplies and faith returns. Faith such as this could never be written in a book or found in any structure no matter how ornate. Nothing could be more spiritual than a walk amongst such sacred blooms.


Before you head outdoors today and tomorrow, you can get these rolls started to enjoy for dinner. I continue to immerse myself in making rolls and have a handful of recipes still to come before my culinary interests choose a new path. Join me as the journey continues.

Honey Spelt Rolls




½ cup warm (110º F) water
⅓ cup honey
2 ½ teaspoons active dry yeast
¼ cup 2% or whole milk
2 eggs
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
2+ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 cups spelt flour
¼ cup dry buttermilk powder
1 ½ teaspoons sea salt
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted
  1. In a small bowl, combine water, ⅓ cup honey, and yeast. Set aside until mixture becomes frothy, 5 to 10 minutes.
  2. In another small bowl, whisk together milk, eggs, and 2 tablespoons melted butter. Set aside.
  3. In the large bowl of a standing mixer, combine 2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, spelt flour, buttermilk powder, and salt. Fold in yeast and egg mixtures.
  4. Knead with the mixer, using the dough hook, on medium-low speed, about 5 to 8 minutes. If dough is sticky, add up to an additional ½ cup unbleached all-purpose flour, 1 tablespoon at a time, kneading after each addition until dough forms a smooth ball and pulls away from the sides of the bowl.
  5. Place dough in a large buttered bowl. Cover bowl with a towel and let rise in a warm spot until dough has doubled in size, about 1 ½ to 2 hours.
  6. Butter two 9-inch pie plates. Divide dough into 16 equal-size pieces. On a cutting board, cup your hand over 1 dough piece; roll firmly against the board to form a smooth ball. Place one ball in center of each pie plate. Roll and evenly arrange another 7 balls around each center ball, evenly spacing them. Cover with a towel and let rise in a warm spot until balls touch and fill pie plate, about 45 to 60 minutes.
  7. Whisk together 1 tablespoon honey and 1 tablespoon melted butter. Lightly brush mixture over top of rolls.
  8. Bake in a 375ºF oven for 20 to 25 minutes, until golden. Let cool slightly in pie plates for 15 minutes. Turn out onto a wire rack and break apart for serving.
Yield: 16 rolls


Spring
Linda Pastan

Just as we lose hope
she ambles in,
a late guest
dragging her hem
of wildflowers,
her torn
veil of mist,
of light rain,
blowing
her dandelion
breath
in our ears;
and we forgive her,
turning from
chilly winter
ways,
we throw off
our faithful
sweaters
and open
our arms.