This is for all the wonderful women out there, and for one in particular: an amazing woman I know and love, who is rising to the challenge:
“Women are angels.
And when someone breaks our wings, we simply continue to fly…on a broomstick.
We’re flexible like that.”
Sometimes you have to use your broomstick…but you keep on flying, whatever life hands you!
A shared sunset, Kauai, HI, 2010
Rob is driving down the West Coast. He’s taking his truck to Prescott, AZ, where we have an RV stored. I’ll travel down next week and join him for the last couple of days’ drive.
But tonight he’s enjoying a sunset without me. I’m on the coast of Alaska; he’s on the coast of California. He sends me a text, “Beautiful sunset.”
The front windows of the house look out on the waters of the Tongass Narrows, and we’re fortunate to enjoy sunsets any day it’s not raining. Some are more photo-worthy than others, of course. You don’t get the perfect scene every day!
But the most important component of memorable sunsets is not the view. It’s the viewers. My favorite viewing partner is a long way from me tonight. Sometimes life is like that, and you have to watch a few sunsets on your own.
I’m looking forward to next week, to seeing the sunset in Arizona. Together.
If you’re fortunate enough to be with your sunset viewing partner, enjoy! And if not, like me, you have something to anticipate. Here’s to the good stuff, and best of all, recognizing the good stuff when it happens.
Southern Living Buttermilk Biscuits
I grew up in the South. I had grandmothers who cooked; a mom, aunts, cousins, a mother-in-law who are all stars in the kitchen. And I don’t do too badly myself, in some areas. But I’ve always been defeated by biscuits. I know, they’re such a Southern staple…tragic that I couldn’t produce a successful version of that breakfast icon.
Over the years I’ve collected a variety of recipes, each promising to be the best, the fluffiest, the epitome of biscuitness. And every time I’ve tried a new recipe, I’ve had another disappointment.
Last weekend I was doing a little internet surfing and stumbled across a classic Southern Living recipe for buttermilk biscuits. The photos looked so amazing, I decided to give it one more try. And I produced perfection! I’ve probably even made this recipe, or something very similar, before. So what was the variable this time? Well, for the first time ever, I baked the biscuits at the temperature the recipe specified! I know right now you’re thinking, why would you not bake at the temperature the recipe gives?
I like lightly browned breads, nothing too crisp or crusty. So I’ve always baked at a lower temperature, thinking that would keep my biscuits from browning too much. But when I actually baked them at 450 degrees, they puffed up to an amazing height. To my surprise, they were lightly browned on the exterior and were the perfect pillowy texture on the inside.
There are times that it is good to think outside the box. There are times when it is good to make your own rules, to do what works for you. But there are also times when following the rules pays off. You don’t need to reinvent the wheel for some things. Biscuit recipes work as they’re written. Math works according to known formulas. Sometimes the best course is to see what has worked for others and to copy what has been successful. That doesn’t mean you don’t have creativity or ability to be original. It may mean that you are smart enough and humble enough to recognize that others may know a thing or two. That you may not always have the best answer, the best idea.
The trick is to know what strategy to use for the given situation. From now on, if I’m making biscuits, I’m going to trust the recipe and “bake as directed.” How many times I’ve read that instruction, and how frequently I have not baked as directed! And what else have I mis-managed because I didn’t follow the directions? On the other hand, there are situations in life that demand that I listen to my heart, that I follow my instincts.
Maybe that’s the challenge for each of us…when to conform and when to stand up and follow our on path. I don’t have all the answers. A lot of the big questions of life are complex, and there may not even be one “right” answer for some things. But I’ve learned that’s not the case for baking biscuits. It’s good to follow the recipe. It’s good to follow directions.
Perfect Southern Living Biscuits
Ingredients
Preparation
Enjoy! And don’t under-bake!
My friend calls to see if I want to go to dinner…”girls’ night out.” Usually we get together on a week night so we don’t impact weekend family time. We all work, so weekend time is premium, and everyone respects that. And somehow, dinner out on a week night seems like an extra special treat. Nice to know I don’t have to think about what to make for dinner, just about what to order. As much as I love puttering around the kitchen and stirring up my favorite foods, I’m always appreciative of someone else doing the cooking.
There’s no set schedule for these outings. Sometimes we’ve made it a monthly event, but it’s always casual, determined by travel demands and how hectic life is for each of us. There are times when adding anything, even something that should be fun, is just too much. Some weeks are like that. Some months are like that.
We come from diverse backgrounds, this little group. All my adult life, I’ve been fortunate to have girlfriends. For a long time, the primary bond was formed through my children. You know, you meet the moms in your kids’ circle, in the carpool group, through youth group, soccer, etc., etc., etc. In more recent years, post children, and after a couple of relocations, my friendships grow out of work relationships or other ties, but I’m no longer connected through kid activities.
Although we are of similar ages, some of us are in the empty nest phase (me) and others still have kids at home. Our conversation reflects this. I now talk about a grandchild, and celebrating her first birthday. I have a son-in-law, a daughter-in-law. The women who are a bit behind me, either in age or in life cycle, still have school events to plan for, graduations, college. But regardless, we’re close enough in experience that we speak each other’s language.
The little circle of friends I have here comes from all over: Colorado, Arizona, Utah, Mexico, Washington, the mid-West. Alaska casts a wide net, drawing people for many reasons. Most of my friends came here with husbands, but a few came alone and have made a home here, drawn by the adventure, the beauty, the uniqueness of the state.
We talk about the same things that women everywhere speak of: family concerns, work, hobbies, new finds, frustrations, the next trip out (when you live on an island, travel is always a big event and commitment, both in time and money). Husbands. Children. What broke recently and how much it cost to fix it. Sometimes we share from the heart, expose bits of ourselves to the others. Sometimes the evening is all laughter and fun. But always, there is awareness that for a few hours, we are women as well as wives, daughters, mothers, employees. Actually, we are girls, and on a good night, diners at the tables around us smile as they recognize the camaraderie that occurs in the company of women. We giggle, tell our stories, sympathize, encourage, hug, share appetizers and desserts, tell each other we’ll do it again soon. Most nights we leave the restaurant just before the staff closes up, realizing guiltily that it’s late and tomorrow is a work day.
But no matter, that’s part of the charm. When you’re with girlfriends, enjoying “girls’ night out,” you don’t watch the clock or notice the passing time. You’re just celebrating the moment. Here’s hoping you have good women in your life. (And if you happen to be a guy reading this, just change the references from female to male. It’s good for men to bond too, and I hear that sometimes happens.)
The color of spring
I pass by the floral department in the local Safeway and see the spring flowers with all their vibrant colors. The daffodils, hyacinths, tulips are on display, and walking up to choose a bunch for my table, I catch the fragrance of springtime.
In my current mode of cleaning and and preparing to move, I’ve given away the few potted plants I had here. I have three small flower beds outside, but of course those plants will stay with the house. No digging up and transplanting for me.
To take the place of green and growing plants, I’ve been buying cut flowers for my table. I have a different color of bulb every week. Sometimes I’ve mixed colors of tulips, or had a bouquet of a single hue. The deep purples and milky white flowers are stunning together, and make a showy centerpiece. I also like the freshness of pink tulips. Seeing a big double bunch spilling out of their vase in the morning brings a smile to my face.
I made a decision recently that I know would be scandalous to my 89-year-old grandmother. I’ve determined that I’m not going to have indoor plants again. For a person who comes from a long line of green thumbs, mine is surprisingly, disappointingly, brown. I can grow flowers outdoors. But when I bring a plant inside, it’s just a matter of time. I know it, and the plant knows it.
And here’s the thing. With my new-found freedom from potted plants, if I’m traveling for a week, I just don’t buy fresh flowers. Nothing invested, nothing lost. And since I’m at the grocery every week, any time I need to add a splash of color, it’s easy enough to do. Cut flowers liven up my dining room in a way that a potted plant never did. And they last amazingly well. I can keep a bouquet for almost a week.
I do like a fresh cutting of rosemary or basil on a regular basis, and I plan to put those outdoors in my next location. But I’m making a pact with myself right now. When I move, I’ll put effort into plants outside. But I’ll let the grocery florist do the work for the inside. Should be a pretty even trade, when I think about the number of plants I’ve bought and killed over the years. At least there’s no surprise when you buy cut flowers. You know they’re going to wilt and turn brown within a week. I guess, to be fair, I always knew that about the potted plants too…the timing was a bit more uncertain, depending on the heartiness of the plant. But the outcome was never in doubt!
So here’s another little declaration of independence: I don’t need a potted plant to make me feel at home, or to create a warm environment. I do need color and freshness. But like many things in life, there’s more than one way to fulfill the need. I’m focused on freeing myself from things that have taken my time, held me back, kept me in a maze, and not returned the investment I’ve made. Potted plants fit in several of these categories. It’s a small step, but one of several I’ve taken recently. And even better, voicing it out loud validates my decision, tells me I’m letting go.
It’s going to be a great spring. See you at the floral counter!
Life is complicated. Few things, indeed, are perfect. Certainly no relationships meet that standard. So what does it mean to accept imperfections, or even differences, in another person? And does acceptance mean that you settle?
We’re initially drawn to others for the positives: the things we have in common, the personality traits or the physical characteristics that we admire in someone. Humor. Kindness. Creativity. Attractiveness. Love of adventure. Intelligence. Emotional maturity. Energy. Ambition. In the beginning, it’s all good. There is excitement in each connection, in every conversation. There’s so much to be explored, to be revealed.
In the beginning of a relationship, there’s big talk. Life, death, history. It seems like you could talk forever.
But eventually, the everyday crowds in, and the business of life takes over. After 29 years of marriage, we don’t tell each other our history. We don’t have to; we’ve lived it together. And we long ago shared our opinions and beliefs of many of the big life questions. We’ve had some evolution over time. But still, for the most part, we know who we are as individuals, and who the other person is.
We have some differences in our views. Differences in what we deem important. We have this conversation: have we just settled? Are we in a rut of relationship? We shouldn’t be clones. My life coach says, “If two are the same, one is unnecessary.” Meaning, unless you’re into having a spare of everything, you don’t need two people who are exactly the same. The differences add the spice, the variety, make the relationship unique among relationships.
I believe that in the end, we choose the significant others in our lives as much for their faults as for their good traits. Yes, at first, we’re drawn to someone by what we have in common and by their positive qualities. But after we see the negatives peek through, there’s a different process that occurs. Whether we recognize it or not, whether it is done subconsciously or not, there is a second process of selection, and this one is based on the negatives. We begin to determine what we can live with. As in, yes, there are things about Rob that annoy me, that irritate me. There are ways we are different. And I know, because over the years, he’s given me a hint or two about this, that there are things about me that frustrate him. I am not perfect for him. He is not perfect for me.
But I have chosen, not settled. Long ago, I saw the heart of this person that drew me. We were babies then, not even out of college. I don’t know how we beat the odds to survive this long. Somehow we did. It hasn’t been easy. We’re not perfect together. But we have created a dance between the two of us. It’s a unique dance, one that only we two know the steps to. I know when he’s having a bad day and needs quiet. I see him when he’s singing to oldies with the music cranked up so I worry the neighbors will complain. He knows when I am in sync, at peace. He sees me when I’m troubled and unhappy. He bears with me.
He’s turning 50 in a few weeks. We talk about a birthday plan. Should we go somewhere? Just the two of us? What does he want? I tell him I don’t care. It’s his special day. But I will choose to be with him, wherever he is. I chose long ago, and I’m still choosing.
It’s good now and then to revisit this in my mind. To know that I choose. To know I am not settling for what’s in front of me, just because the relationship exists.
As you think about your life, your commitments, I wish you the same peace, the same assurance. I wish for you the the certainty that comes from choosing for yourself, with full knowledge of the good, the bad, and the unique. And remember, if two are the same, one is unnecessary.
Ketchikan
Here in SE Alaska, spring sometimes forgets to behave as the season it is and moves back and forth between late winter and early summer. Actually, that’s pretty typical any time of year. This is a place where the weather really can change dramatically in five minutes. We’ve had sun/rain/sun/rain/sun today. At the moment we’re back to sun, but it probably won’t last.
But it was clear enough for a lunch-time walk down to Burger Queen, a little local dive of a place that has great food, milkshakes, and a tiny dining space. I think there are a total of five tables in the whole place. For anyone who knows Ketchikan, it’s located next to the tunnel on Tongass, before you pass through and enter the “downtown” part of the community.
Burger Queen makes a “Seattle Burger” and a Polish sausage sandwich “Solidarity” that is our standard order when we eat there. We order one of each and split them. Sometimes we add onion rings for a perfect Saturday lunch. This is the kind of place that’s been open for decades and multiple generations have experienced. Nothing fancy about it, but when you eat there, you know you’re getting authentic food…no chain menu, no fancy dining area, no waiters coming to your table to introduce themselves. No, you just sort out what you want from the big menu on the wall, then give your order to the kid at the cash register; you can see into the small kitchen just beyond the counter.
We’ve taken our kids and other guests to eat here. It’s a small experience, but the kind of place that I know we’ll talk about years from now, as in, “do you remember the little burger joint in Ketchikan?”
I’ll remember it, for the burger and the atmosphere, but mostly, because it was a place we experienced together. And whether it’s a big event or a simple lunch, sharing is the charm that adds the magic, even to a little lunch dive in Alaska.
Happy Saturday!
“If you can’t feed a hundred people, then just feed one.” Mother Teresa
“I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish humble tasks as though they were great and noble.” Helen Keller
There are so many things I like about these quotes. They remind me that doing something good for just one person is enough. That doing something small is enough. That I don’t have to be great to be valuable. That I may never know what an act of kindness on my part may mean to another person, but it’s worth doing anyway. Practicing kindness is not about getting credit. It’s just about doing.
What are you doing today?
Yum! Sticky Toffee Pudding
Recipe of the Week
Ok, I don’t really post a weekly recipe, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?
This recipe came to me from a dear friend, Ann, who is a wonderful cook of Southern heritage (no disrespect to other regions of the US, but I must say, all the Southern cooks I know are skilled and accomplished in the kitchen). Ann is a shining star in that area, and she has been a source of many family favorites through the years of our friendship. My famous cinnamon rolls (famous among my friends) are really Ann’s…and I am always happy to give credit to her.
But cinnamon rolls are for another day. Today’s little jewel is Sticky Toffee Pudding, possibly my favorite dessert in the world next to decadent chocolate cake. And there’s a secret ingredient: dates! Don’t be put off by that if you’re not a date fan. They dissolve beautifully. Make a game of asking family or guests what fruit is in the pudding. My bet is that no one will even know there’s fruit in the dessert, much less guess what it is.
The first thing to know about this dessert is that it is not a pudding. This is a recipe of English origin, and the English seem to label many things “pudding” that would not be a pudding to an American…just a little clarification going in so no one is surprised by the result. But believe me, you won’t be sorry this is not the traditional American pudding…just ignore the name and proceed as directed. This is a moist and delicious cake with the best and easiest-to-make caramel sauce I’ve ever had. In fact, the sauce alone is worth making. I use it for other desserts that need a little extra love in the form of gooey-buttery-brown sugar decadence. It keeps well in the fridge and reheats like a charm. And it dresses up anything, from a plain pound cake to a bowl of fresh fruit; perfect for ice cream too. Thank you, Ann!
Sticky Toffee Pudding
Pudding Ingredients:
Toffee Sauce Ingredients:
Topping:
1 cup heavy cream, whipped
Directions for pudding:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter an 8 or 9 inch round cake pan, or square baking dish of similar size. Sift flour and baking powder together and set aside. Finely chop dates if you purchased whole dates. (You can purchase these pitted and whole, or already chopped, either option works.) Place dates in a bowl and add the boiling water and baking soda. Set aside.
In bowl of electric mixer, beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the egg and vanilla and blend into butter/sugar. Gradually blend in the flour mixture. Gently fold date mixture into the batter, and pour into the prepared baking dish. Bake until the pudding is set and firm on top, about 35 minutes. Remove from oven to wire rack. Cool in pan.
Directions for sauce:
Combine the butter, ½ cup of heavy cream, and the brown sugar in a small heavy saucepan. Heat mixture to boiling, stirring constantly. Boil over medium heat until mixture is thickened, about 8 minutes.
To serve:
Preheat oven broiler. Spoon about 1/3 cup of the sauce over the pudding and spread evenly over the top. Place pudding under the broiler until the topping is bubbly, about 1 minute. Portion pudding into dessert dishes, drizzle with additional toffee sauce and top with a spoonful of whipped cream.
Delicious!
I recently read a book that was amazing. Kitchen Table Wisdom, by Rachel Naomi Remen, MD, was first published in 1996. Somehow I missed it when it came out, all those years ago, and just stumbled across it one Saturday afternoon when I was rambling in a local bookstore. I actually bought a small gift book edition, a condensed version of the full text. I found the writing moving and insightful.
I eventually discovered, when I mentioned the little book to Rob, that he had the full text edition in his books, stored in the basement. I hadn’t even realized I had read an edited version. I dug it out and read the whole thing in a few short sittings.
The book is a combination of personal reflections based on the author’s life and stories of wisdom drawn from her experience and years as a physician and counselor. There are many pearls of insight, but the one that was most meaningful to me is this:
Children can learn early that they are loved for what they do and not simply for who they are. To a perfectionistic parent, what you do never seems as good as what you might do if you just tried a little harder. The life of such children can become a constant striving to earn love. Of course love is never earned, it is a grace we give one another. Anything we need to earn is only approval.
Few perfectionists can tell the difference between love and approval. Perfectionism is so widespread in this culture that we actually have had to invent another word for love. “Unconditional love,” we say. Yet all love is unconditional. Anything else is just approval.
“Anything else is just approval.” That’s a challenging filter to pour my emotions through. Digesting this made me consider all the people in my life that I love. It can be a bit complicated to sort out all the reasons we love, and what feeds that emotion. This is not just an issue for parents and children. The principle applies to spouse, extended family, friends.
Of course the people in our lives may do things that may please us, or not. But the question is really less about what others do and more about how we respond. As a parent of young children, I always encouraged my kids to do their best. But I admit, what I often meant was “I know you can do better than that.” And the reality is that I was probably right when I had those feelings. They probably could have done better. But bottom line, the challenge was to take whatever they did and see the positive in it. Sometimes I got that, sometimes not. I believe, overall, I was able to escape being a perfectionist parent, but not because I completely understood the difference between love and approval. Maybe that was a grace that I was given, and in turn was able to extend.
It’s a fine line we walk….navigating between approval and love. Of course, I believe these two things can exist together, and should. I can choose to love, even when someone in my life is behaving in a way I don’t approve. Maybe the resolution comes when I recognize that although I may be the center of my own little universe, the people in my life are not obligated to behave in a way that I approve. No. They will make their own decisions and choices. As someone who is part of their universe, I may have an opinion about their actions. But it is my choice whether I love, or don’t love. I don’t get a choice when it comes to behavior. That’s their choice.
What about you? Are you loving the people in your life? Or just approving of them? Is there behavior that crosses the line? Spouses divorce. Rifts occur. Family members let go of others, quit speaking. I’m not saying there should be no boundaries, or that loving someone means you become a door mat. But it’s worth thinking about. I want to be honest with myself. And I want my standard to be love, not just approval. And I hope that I’ll be given the same grace.
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