#6: Now

An article I read the other day reminded me that so much of happiness is dependent on our assessment of the present. When Old News Is Good News: The Effect of 6 Elderly New Yorkers on One Middle-Aged Reporter by John Leland is part of a series, following the lives of a sample of our country's aging demographic. In particular, I think the work of this reporter highlights how the elderly understand best that time is a most precious commodity. Leland writes of one of his subjects: 

One day in his apartment, Fred Jones asked me my definition of happiness, then gave me his own. “Happiness to me is what’s happening now,” he said. The apartment, a cluttered wreck that was up two flights of stairs he could barely climb, was an unlikely place to look for happiness, and Mr. Jones, whose health was failing, was an unlikely spokesman. But he never dwelt on his problems. “If you’re not happy at the present time, then you’re not happy,” he said. “Some people say, if I get that new fur coat for the winter, or get myself a new automobile, I’ll be happy then. But you don’t know what’s going to happen by that time. Right now, are you happy?” Whenever I asked him the happiest time of his life, he said without hesitation, “Right now.”

As such, happiness in the now is really a choice, because sometimes the present really stinks. I would really like to choose more happiness, knowing that now, right now, is all we can truly count on. What remains a challenge is to stay in that mindset, to keep that awareness and knowledge at the forefront of my thoughts. I do think I can take some small steps to build my practice of living in the now:

• I can end each day, recounting at least one thing that made me happy. 
• I can work to cultivate and garner wisdom through experiences, relationships, and intellectual engagement. 
• I can look back and take heart that I am resilient and strong. "Look how I have thrived despite what life has thrown my way, so why worry about what is to come?!" 
• I can spend some time each day in mindful silence or prayer or meditation or reflection with the present front and center. 
• I can laugh and cry and rage and process so that all the emotions which are mired in the past don't hinder life in the present. 
• I can let love live large in my life.
• I can write.

Writing brings me front and center. It pulls out my thoughts which have a life of their own and simply pour forth as they are right now, write now, as this post finds form. So, I thought I would share a new poem that I wrote in the quiet of a solitary hour yesterday morning. So unlike my usual self with list of tasks at the ready, I sat down and wrote and gave myself to the time in hand. I was so glad I did, because the writing felt so good.

Never Ending Now

If now is always there,

The present eternally reliable,

Then this involuntary breath,

This wakeful blink of both eyes,

This bitter aftertaste of coffee brewed strong,

This warmth of pup with head in lap,

This glimpse of sun rising on a still, cold horizon,

This knowledge of love asleep in downy beds above,

Binds me with my fellow travelers forever,

One as near as the other far

Both yesterday as well as tomorrow,

In a single journey through memory and hope.

Universal,

Instinctual,

Never ending

Now.

Selfless

A little less self, a little more selfless, a little more self to give.

The selfie obsession reached a new low this week when a family placed their child in an 800-year-old coffin at a museum in Britain for a photo op, damaged the artifact, and then left without a word. Of course, closed-circuit television cameras caught them in the act. Somehow, this story seems to encapsulate so much of this era in a nutshell. A little less self, a little more selfless, perhaps?

So much of public discourse of late seems to revolve around the self -- what I deserve, what I have lost or sacrificed, what I know to be true, what I was told, how I perceive the world, how I defend what I said or did, who I see as lesser than myself or greater than myself. So much is said and done and believed to be true without thoughtful reflection of or engagement in the perspective and experience of others. Somehow the foundation of working for the common good has been badly shaken, and we continue to dig in our heels. Maybe, a little less self, a little more selfless?

Our public discourse might be far more civil, if we first thought of how every word and deed might effect the other before we spoke and acted. Isn't this what we have been trying to teach our children all along? I have told my girls dozens of times over the years:

"You are no more or less worthy than anyone else. You don't have to like everybody, but you must treat everybody with basic respect. Period. And, remember that each individual has a personal story that makes them who he or she is. Try to understand and it will be far easier to be gracious."*

The message remains true for me as much as them. A little less self, a little more selfless.

For me, the bottom line is that the health of our society depends on sacrifice of self for the common good. The needs of many are great in communities no matter where you live and nothing is more common among all of us than the desire to have the essential needs met of those we love most. Anything less must certainly be a moral failing in light of our nation's economic and political standing in the world. A little less self, a little more selfless.

So, I am turning this mantra over in my head, a meditation of sorts. I might even call it a personal mission statement. Of course, I mix up my wants and needs on a regular basis. I rant. I rave. I know, if you know what I mean. I dig in my heels, too. I am working on it though, step by step. A little less self, a little more selfless, a lot more self to give.

Want 

Carrie Fountain

The wasps outside
the kitchen window
are making that
thick, unraveling sound
again, floating in
and out of the bald head
of their nest,
seeming not to move
while moving,
and it has just occurred
to me, standing,
washing the coffeepot,
watching them hang
loosely in the air-thin
wings; thick, elongated
abdomens; sad, down-
pointing antennae-
that this
is the heart’s constant
project: this simple
learning; learning
how to hold
hopelessness
and hope together;
to see on the unharmed
surface of one
the great scar
of the other; to recognize
both and to make
something of both;
to desire everything
and nothing
at once and to desire it
all the time;
and to contain that desire
fleshly, in a body;
to wash it and rest it
and feed it; to learn
its name and from whence
it came; and to speak
to it-oh, most of all
to speak to it-
every day, every day,
saying to one part,
“Well, maybe this is all
you get,” while saying
to the other, “Go on,
break it open, let it go.”

*Don't get me wrong as I also clearly communicated that abusive and bullying behavior is never to be tolerated!

Ginkgo

I read The Whispering Leaves of the Hiroshima Ginkgo Trees in the New York Times last week. The piece reminded me that the ginkgo has been found in fossils over 270 million years old. Ginkgo trees are survivors, and the author is right that they might have a message for us.

Now, I look at the ginkgo tree outside the kitchen window with more reflection and ever more appreciation. I have always loved the leaves which turn a beautiful golden yellow in the fall. Moreover, the tree still brings me back to Goethe, the writer of classical German literature and poetry, who wrote so eloquently about the leaves of this woody perennial plant in the poem Ginkgo Biloba.

I had to memorize the poem and share an analysis of its meaning in a class I took during my junior year abroad at Albert Ludwigs Universitaet of Freiburg, Germany. The course was on the classicists, Goethe and Schiller, and was taught by a professor who had escaped East Germany. The class (taught completely in German) of American students was both intimidated and enamored with the professor. He was brilliant, had been a world class athlete, and epitomized the romantic notions of a worldly professor, who modeled silk scarves, recited literature, and wore an air of mystery. I mean, he had lived on the other side of the wall, and he had escaped.  

In our extensive discussion about the course and the man outside of class, we jokingly called him Herr Gorbachev. And, in my nervous state during my presentation, I called him Herr Gorbachev to his face which resulted in peels of laughter from the rest of the class and my face washing in a deep shade of red. Clearly, he laughed it off as well as I remember scoring well on my work and the course.

Like the Hiroshima Ginkgo trees, I realize that Ginkgo Biloba taught me many things. It immersed me deeper into my love of poetry and strengthened my public speaking skills -- in a second language, no less. It helped me see two sides to a person, a piece of writing, an issue and an experience. It reminded me that humans are multifaceted, complicated beings and barriers are best torn down not erected. 

When we read deeply or travel broadly or interact with the once unknown, we see ourselves from where we were before the experience and then again after -- we can be the same person yet different if only we open ourselves to the process and the journey. A small leaf and a short poem remind me that writing and nature can survive to travel over time and distance and cultural/lingual differences and help us see ourselves and our surroundings anew. Every time I see a Ginkgo tree, I say to myself, "Daß ich eins und doppelt bin?" Those are the words that return to me over and over, etched in my mind and retrieved involuntarily. And, I couldn't be more grateful for their insight.

GINKGO BILOBA 

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

German:

Dieses Baums Blatt, der von Osten
Meinem Garten anvertraut,
Gibt geheimen Sinn zu kosten,
Wie's den Wissenden erbaut.

Ist es ein lebendig Wesen,
Das sich in sich selbst getrennt?
Sind es zwei, die sich erlesen,
Daß man sie als eines kennt?

Solche Fragen zu erwidern
Fand ich wohl den rechten Sinn:
Fühlst Du nicht an meinen Liedern,
Daß ich eins und doppelt bin?

English:

In my garden’s care and favour

From the East this tree’s leaf shows

Secret sense for us to savour

And uplifts the one who knows.

Is it but one being single

Which as same itself divides?

Are there two which choose to mingle

So that each as one now hides?

As the answer to such question

I have found a sense that’s true:

Is it not my songs’ suggestion

That I’m one and also two?

~ Translated by John Whaley

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
5½  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

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

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.

Commitment

Slowly, the sun seems more committed to spring. She is a wonderful example, a reminder that our lives have seasons, too. I have decided to become more committed myself as life slowly moves into a new phase. At 48, I am redirecting as my whole family prepares to transition. My daughters are becoming more independent as they come into their own individually. They are truly lovely and finding their own paths. My husband is moving beyond tenure as a professor and seeking to focus his work more on his passions.

And, I am building a five year plan of my own. I hope to reach further, to stretch myself out into a dual career of sorts. I hope to move from being solely the homefront coordinator (a.k.a. mother and wife to a very full family life) to also adopting a lifelong pursuit that nurtures my creative side and uses all my skills and abilities honed over the years as a professional educator. I am working with a life coach to set a plan in place and uncover the essence of my plan. All of this is quite exciting and scary at the same time. I will let you know where I find a firm grasp on this journey.

I am also more committed to follow food where it takes me. As I have been struggling with baking bread, I realized that I have a knack for yeasted rolls. Rather than continue to push myself down a road of frustration and marginal results, I have decided to go down a more positive avenue that excites me and produces food my family and I enjoy. I hope to share a variety of yeasted roll recipes over the next few weeks that suit my skill set (and yours!), embody my values around food, and produce delicious results. Let's get started.

Pull Apart Rolls

1 tablespoon active dry yeast

1½ cups whole milk warmed to 110˚F

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

2 tablespoons granulated sugar

1 teaspoon sea salt

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1½ cups whole wheat pastry flour

1. In the large mixing bowl of a standing mixer, dissolve yeast in milk. Allow to proof for 5 to 10 minutes.
2. Stir in butter, sugar, and salt. Add all-purpose flour and 1 cup of wheat flour.
3. Begin to knead with the dough hook of the standing mixer, gradually working in remaining wheat flour (a bit more or less) until dough is springy but not sticky. You should see the dough just cohesively pull away from the side of the bowl. If you add more flour after this point, the dinner rolls will be tough. Knead for a total of about 10 minutes on the medium low setting of the standing mixer.
4. Place in a large, greased bowl. Cover and let rise in a warm, draft-free location until double in size, about 40 minutes.
5. Punch down and let rise an additional 30 minutes as directed above.
6. Punch down a second time and shape into 16 small balls, using a cupped hand to roll each ball against the counter or the palm of your second hand. Place side-by-side into a lightly buttered 8-inch square baking pan.
7. Cover and let rise a third time as directed above for a final 40 minutes. Rolls will rise, pressing against one another to fill pan.
8. Bake at 400˚F for about 20 minutes until lightly browned. Butter tops, if desired, and remove from pan. Pull apart rolls and serve immediately while still hot or cool completely prior to eating.

Yield: 16 rolls

***

Lastly, I have to share this ingenious poem that should reignite our love for the English language and all its idiomatic expressions.

Sweater Weather: A Love Song to Language 
Sharon Bryan

Never better, mad as a hatter,
right as rain, might and main,
hanky-panky, hot toddy,

hoity-toity, cold shoulder,
bowled over, rolling in clover,
low blow, no soap, hope

against hope, pay the piper,
liar liar pants on fire,
high and dry, shoo-fly pie,

fiddle-faddle, fit as a fiddle,
sultan of swat, muskrat
ramble, fat and sassy,

fllimflam, happy as a clam,
cat’s pajamas, bee’s knees,
peas in a pod, pleased as punch,

pretty as a picture, nothing much,
lift the latch, double dutch,
helter-skelter, hurdy-gurdy,

early bird, feathered friend,
dumb cluck, buck up,
shilly-shally, willy-nilly,

roly-poly, holy moly,
loose lips sink ships,
spitting image, nip in the air,

hale and hearty, part and parcel,
upsy-daisy, lazy days,
maybe baby, up to snuff,

flibbertigibbet, honky-tonk,
spic and span, handyman
cool as a cucumber, blue moon,

high as a kite, night and noon,
love me or leave me, seventh heaven,
up and about, over and out.

Remarkable

Freddy's routine is reliable. He wakes with the radiators in the morning and bakes upon them on and off throughout the day such that he has dandruff all over his tail. He watches the clock and knows the time for breakfast, lunch, snack, and dinner precisely. He loves to drink from the bathtub faucet so that we turn it on for him just right as we get ready for bed. He sleeps curled up next to me each night, waiting until I have put down my book and turned off the lights to settle in. If I move, he regroups, inching closer again to my legs for we must touch.

Freddy loves to play with a pompom or a piece of string. He has a fetish for boxes and baskets and bags. He takes great pride in stalking prey whether a bug that has invaded NOLD or any form of wildlife outside the windows and doors. Such a sighting causes his tail to twitch and growls to emanate from deep down in his throat. In the summer, the neighbor cats often come to taunt him through the screens for he is an indoor cat, one who must enter a closed door as soon as it is opened to inspect and insure that all is well.

A rescue cat, Freddy has a fear of strangers, particularly men with loud, deep voices. As soon as the doorbell rings, Freddy makes a mad dash for the basement, where he has a secret hiding place within the far reaches of the crawl space beneath NOLD. Yet, Freddy never fails to snuggle my girls with an abiding affection, reminding me this is just how he chose us at the SPCA almost eight years ago.

What I find most remarkable of all is this: Freddy believes the sun shines for him. No matter how hot the day, Freddy will stretch out or curl up in a swath of sunshine and sleep for hours. His fur glistens. When you pet him, he is hot beneath your touch and his eyes close in complete contentment and comfort. 

Freddy reminds me to appreciate an ordinary day and to note the most reliable and remarkable of all events, the rising and setting of the sun. Its light and warmth remain my most constant companion on a snow-filled day in early February such as this.

The Cats

Ann Iverson

To find such glory in a dehydrated pea

on the tile between the stove and fridge.

To toss the needs of others aside
when you simply aren't in the mood for affection.

To find yourselves so irresistible.

And always in a small spot of sun,
you sprawl and spread out the pleasure of yourselves

never fretting, never wanting to go back
to erase your few decisions.

To find yourself so remarkable
all the day long. 

Chatter

I walked abroad in a snowy day;

I asked the soft snow with me to play…

William Blake

Today is a snow day, a play day, a day with an excuse to slow down. A day to putter about in our pajamas, if we like with no agenda or a moving agenda or an agenda of our very own design from top to bottom. A day to sip slowly hot drinks like hot cocoa, steaming peppermint tea, and hot cider. A day to watch a favorite movie or read a good book from cover to cover while under the covers, a favorite down comforter in bed or a wool throw on the couch. A day to get lost in a world as fantastic as the falling snow outside NOLD as night approaches, snowflakes catching the flash to sparkle like magic stardust. A day to dream and mingle with one's thoughts for a few extra minutes with the encouragement of the surrounding quiet. 

Winter seems to be digging in its heels as is typical for February in the Northeast. I swing from feeling tired of the darkness, the cold, the muck, the gear, the day-in-day-out effort and feeling grateful for the beauty, the fresh air, the stillness, the slowness, the seasonal cycle that prepares nature to burst forth and bring forth in short order. I will muddle through awash in ideas and words and hope. Even in the midst of a snowstorm, The Little Free Library soldiers on and poetry bursts forth with pen in hand, a haiku the gift:

flurries fall daily

air alight in thick stillness

my thoughts chatter on

Legacy

Lately, I have been thinking about my legacy. What has been passed down to me by my parents' extended families that I may want to cherish or, conversely, want to let go? Specifically, I am thinking about those things that reside in my core and make me who I am, what things I hold onto dearly that might inspire me or might hold me back, and the sources of values and passions which might direct my future choices and possibly the future of my girls, too.

Without getting too deep or going too far today, A Measured Word certainly hints at my passions for education, the written word, nature, gardening, and food. So much of this is rooted in my German heritage and was passed down to me as a quiet and shy child at the kitchen and dining room tables as I observed the activity that swirled around me and processed the conversations I heard.

I was never permitted to be a picky eater, had to eat what was prepared and placed on my plate, and liked most foods as a result. I eat more broadly now and with great interest, but I recall some simple foods of my youth with such great fondness that they can only be called comfort foods at their very best.

Today, I thought I would share one simple recipe, one simple comfort food of my youth eaten with butter and apple sauce or cinnamon sugar or hazelnut spread or hot cherry soup. I love pancakes of all sorts and like to eat breakfast for dinner sometimes as an unexpected treat. German Pancakes satisfy at breakfast, at dinner, for a snack, or as a treat. From Where the Sidewalk Ends, I know that Shel Silverstein would know exactly what I mean, too.

German Pancakes

Mix in blender:

2 cups milk

6 eggs

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

½ cup granulated sugar

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Heat a greased skillet to piping hot:

Reduce heat and pour a thin, crepe-like layer of batter to cover the entire bottom of the pan -- the bigger the pan, the bigger the pancake. When bubbles form and bottom begins to brown, flip and brown other side. Top as desired. Best when eaten immediately but can be stored in the refrigerator and reheated.

Yield: 8 to 12 pancakes

Bread

I have been immersed in thinking about baking lately. When it comes to the craft, I consider it one of my strengths, one of my passions. However, when it comes to baking bread, I would have to say I often strike out. In fact, with yeasted breads, my batting average is 50/50.

Yet, I keep at it, especially in the winter. I simply have too many great memories of German rye bread slathered in butter and jam from my childhood, both a dietary staple and a treat. And, I have dreams of making one day a week my bread baking day as a routine to stock the larder.

I am just not there yet, and I certainly haven't had great success with my own starter, but I am finding a handful of recipes that I can successfully prepare on a consistent basis. These recipes include commercial yeast and whole grains or vegetables for added nutrition in the form of loaves and rolls.

Today, I thought I would share a recipe from Cooking Light that follows on the theme of Shepherd's Pie as you can use extra mashed potatoes from the holidays to prepare them. My family thinks they are delicious as an accompaniment to a turkey or ham dinner as well as for sandwiches the next day to use up the leftover meat.

Potato Rolls

2 cups cubed peeled baking potato

4 teaspoons sugar, divided

1 package dry yeast (about 2 1/4 teaspoons)

4 1/4 cups bread flour, divided

3 tablespoons butter, melted

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1 large egg

Cooking spray

2 tablespoons bread flour

1.   Place potato in a medium saucepan; cover with water. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer 15 minutes or until tender. Drain in a colander over a bowl, reserving 1 cup cooking liquid. Mash potatoes with a fork.

2.   Cool reserved cooking liquid to 105° to 115°. Stir in 1 teaspoon sugar and yeast. Let stand 5 minutes.

3.   Lightly spoon 4 1/4 cups flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Combine mashed potato, yeast mixture, 1 tablespoon sugar, 4 cups flour, butter, salt, and egg in a large bowl, stirring until well blended.

4.   Turn dough out onto a floured surface. Knead until smooth and elastic (about 10 minutes); add up to 1/4 cup flour, 1 tablespoon at a time, to prevent dough from sticking to hands (dough will feel tacky).

5.   Place dough in a large bowl coated with cooking spray, turning to coat top. Cover and let rise in a warm place (85°), free from drafts, 45 minutes or until doubled in size. (Press two fingers into dough. If indentation remains, the dough has risen enough.) Punch dough down; cover and let rest 10 minutes.

6.   Divide dough in half; divide each half into 12 equal portions. Working with 1 portion at a time (cover remaining dough to keep from drying), shape portion into a 2-inch-long oval on a floured surface. Roll up tightly, starting with a long edge, pressing firmly to eliminate air pockets; pinch seam and ends to seal. Place roll, seam side down, on a baking sheet coated with cooking spray.

7.   Repeat procedure with remaining dough portions, placing 12 rolls on each of 2 baking sheets. Sift 2 tablespoons flour over rolls to lightly coat. Cover rolls and let rise 45 minutes or until doubled in size.

8.   Bake at 350°F for 10 minutes with 1 baking sheet on the bottom rack and 1 baking sheet on the second rack from the top. Rotate baking sheets; bake an additional 10 minutes or until rolls are browned on bottom, lightly browned on top, and sound hollow when tapped. Remove from pan; cool on wire racks.

Note: Bake these rolls up to 1 month ahead. Cool completely, wrap in heavy-duty aluminum foil, and freeze. Thaw completely, and reheat (still wrapped in foil) at 375ºF for 12 minutes or until warm.

Bread

M.S. Merwin

for Wendell Berry

Each face in the street is a slice of bread   

wandering on

searching

somewhere in the light the true hunger   

appears to be passing them by   

they clutch

have they forgotten the pale caves

they dreamed of hiding in

their own caves

full of the waiting of their footprints

hung with the hollow marks of their groping   

full of their sleep and their hiding

have they forgotten the ragged tunnels

they dreamed of following in out of the light   

to hear step after step

the heart of bread

to be sustained by its dark breath   

and emerge

to find themselves alone   

before a wheat field

raising its radiance to the moon