something to smile about.

A few days back I watched the rain pound the front yard into puddles and I talked myself through the circles of things I need to do and have to do and want to do.

And I wondered how all these things, meld themselves into something like a meaningful, purposeful life.

They do, of course, but in the thick of it I find myself on the porch, after dark, watching the water in the yard rise like a wonky pond and I ask myself the hard questions. I don’t like the hard questions any more than I like the pond in my front yard, but the hard questions keep me looking ahead and that’s a good thing.

And on the following Monday when I awoke to clear skies and a muddy yard, after the previous week of a birthday party,  three doctors appointments, a nasty head cold, a broken washing machine and little to no sleep, I  committed myself to getting back on track.

I don't know what else to tell you, other than that on this rainy Fall morning, I can feel Summer putting on her breaks and it's hitting me hard. It started happening a few weeks ago, but I was in denial for the first few days, then I was frantic for one, excited for about an hour and a half, and now, this morning, I cried a little.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. I can't believe I made it this long. There's a good possibility that I'll be in full on sobbing soon, so if you have any why I love Fall stories, now would be the time to share them. every year I rally my best efforts in an attempt to enjoy Fall. I'm a firm believer in growth and color and beginning again, but ninety five percent of this season ends up drippy and cold, and it plays hard to get in the worst way. ah, Fall. I five percent love you.

 It almost doesn't feel like Summer fully happened, but I'm hoping to make these last days go a long way toward recalibrating my soul for whatever happens next.

Because there's just never enough summer.


Farewell dreamy Summer, you were very good to me this year even though I don't have the tan lines to prove it. Your flowers were more beautiful than ever, and you taught me a few new things about growing tomatoes.  You also taught me that hydrangeas are the belles of the ball and that it's fun to grow peppers even if the deer eat most of them. You united me with my inner farmer yet once again, and I may never be the same.
I know I talk excessively about it, but it can't be helped. Something happens to me when the sun shines and the air is warm. It's an almost  tangible thing. It's a feeling I can't conjure up when it's frosty, so I like to carry it around for a while.

So, in a perfect world, I would rummage around the road-side 10/$1 mini pumpkin stand in flip flops and my old t-shirt, instead this morning I'm wearing skinny cords and a chunky knit. I honored last Thursday with Capri, a day trip to the country, road side produce stands, and a hot chocolate on the deck after dark. I'm loving right now that dreamy kind of air that makes for a brisk walk in the morning, then turns deliciously warm and blissful before noon.

I love it when my arms are bare and I'm cutting perennials back and it just smells like a new start. It smells like a familiar beginning, like something is blooming even as it fades.

Yes, I know, my feelings for fall are situational. I've accepted it.

Yesterday afternoon I practically ran up to my "office", punching my time card hours before my shift was officially over, my patience allotment at the breaking point. Someone needed me every moment, my time, my energy, my constant attention all week long. By late afternoon, I was tired and frustrated that all those inspired thoughts I had would remain Quiescent, no time or energy to release them, or even more frustrating, just too weary to act on them. I had to snap myself out of it, and so the changing of the guards commenced. I did not apologize for the state of the kitchen or the unfolded laundry. There was mail to sort and floors to sweep. Both of the puppies were whining to go out.

But, for a few hours, I breathed and thought and did yoga and wrote, nurturing my own needs instead of juggling demands, and it felt good. I ate by myself that night, quietly writing between bites and watching the sun set from my bedroom window. I took the puppies for a walk and used it as an excuse to wander, caught up in the magic of the blue hour.   The silence was mesmerizing and the evening itself, entirely captivating and beautiful, so I did what I always do, I count my blessings...

By the time I strolled back in the driveway, it was well past dark. And though I opened the door and walked right back into the same place I had left earlier, it felt different, my weariness softened by the perspective a clear mind gives. This is my home. This is my life and I soaked it all in like super hero fuel. Sometimes I think I rely too much on the "beautiful" moments of life to make the hard ones "worth it." And even though the beautiful far outweighs the hard (listen, I put on my rose colored glasses every day), what if it didn't? If puppies didn't run to the door every single time and the people you love didn't love you back or reach up to hold your hand, if a mother never smiled and told stories about your childhood just like how you imagine it was when you dream of it, if sons never asked you to let them help or take you to dinner when you're tired, if research and routines and therapists never delivered the breakthroughs you believed in, if no one ever said "I'm sorry," if tough love never brought them back home, if you didn't believe they really were in "a better place", if you never stopped feeling this tired or unequipped or unloved, unworthy or so completely removed from how you thought it would look, if it never got any better than this...it's still so worth it. Right now.

Loving, even when it's hard, is the payoff in life. It is the shelling out of beautiful moments or loving someone back or being happy at this very moment. The flip side to the hard parts of life aren't shinier or easier,  they are just clearer. Like coming home to the same needs and messes and stressses that you left a bit earlier but seeing them for what they are, something you get to be a part of, something precious and beautiful. So while I at times pick moments that might look shiny to share, know that they aren't what makes life good or beautiful or worth it. They just gave me something to smile about.

just sayin'.

Corn, Cheddar and Scallion Strata (this stuff is amazing)

1 tablespoon butter
3 cups fresh corn (cut from 3 small-to-average cobs)
1 1/2 cup thinly sliced scallions (both white and green parts)
8 cups whole wheat, country or French bread in 1-inch cubes
2 cups (6 ounces) coarsely grated sharp cheddar
1 cup (2 ounces) finely grated parmesan
9 large eggs
2 tablespoons mayonnaise (I also like 2 TBL dijon mustard here)
2 3/4 cups milk
1 teaspoon table salt or 2 teaspoons of a coarse sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Generously butter a 3-quart baking dish (a 9×13-inch pan works well here). Toss corn and scallions together in a medium bowl. Combine cheeses in another bowl. In a large bowl, gently beat eggs and mayo (dijon) together, then whisk in milk, salt and 1/2 teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper. Spread one-third of bread cubes in prepared baking dish, it will not fully cover bottom of dish; this is fine. Add one-third of corn, then cheese mixture. Repeat layering twice with remaining bread, corn and cheese. Pour egg mixture evenly over strata. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 8 hours or up to 1 day.

When ready to bake, heat oven to 350 degrees F. Bake strata, uncovered, until puffed, golden brown and cooked through, about 45 to 55 minutes. Let stand 5 minutes before serving.

Do ahead: Strata keeps baked in the fridge for 4 days or longer in the freezer, wrapped well. It reheats wonderfully, either from the fridge or freezer and holds up well in picnic baskets.

in my life.

Do you have a clear memory of what you were like when you were little? I find myself wishing that I could remember more. I'm sure it's all part of my almost-midlife crisis. Other elements of said crisis are: finding it to be a real chore when I have to make myself "presentable", coming within an inch of chopping my hair off every-other-month, an increasing fondness for chips and salsa, an intolerance for uncomfortable clothes, becoming even more of a hermit, etc.. etc... It's a real doozey of a crisis, as you can see.

I grew up in a house that was just under 1100 square feet.  A two story model with three bedrooms and one bath for our family of four (later to become five) in a perfectly middle class neighborhood.  If we were poor we didn't know it.  We lived on a dead end street and ran amuck on that wooded piece of guarded security... say it with me, until the street lights came on.

We didn't have a lot of things but apparently we didn't need a lot of things.

We didn't always have a clothes dryer. We just hung our clothes outside on the line as if we lived in Amish country.  Sorry Amish country, nothing personnel.

We didn't have a credit card so there was no racking up a lifestyle above our pay grade.  If we didn't have the money, we didn't get it. We didn't get a lot of things. AND I can count the number of times we went out to dinner... on one hand, with two fingers.

We did a lot of things for ourselves.

My father tended the yard every Saturday morning ~ edging, trimming and watering.  He finished the attic for a bedroom, built a shower in the basement, poured concrete for our driveway. He also did the maintenance work on our vehicles... himself. Another one of those lost arts gone by the way of updated technology. you never see anyone under the hood of their car anymore unless you are in the parking lot of Walmart. See, it just comes out!

 My mom did all the cooking and cleaning and child rearing. You know, all the woman's work.

You made a lot of things yourself.

My mom sewed a decent amount of my clothes, and I loved them. She always let me pick out the material. In fact, I could "design" what I wanted. She really did make great things. Things I loved.  Skirts, sun dresses, and pajamas. I remember one sun dress in particular, blue print with white rick rack and lace. It was amazing and would have stood the test of time.  I know this because years later I had a dress in the same style (but without the rick rack). The sewing gene just didn't take but I so wished it had. My mom could Scarlet O'Hara the crap out of a pair of drapes.  Come to think of it she made the drapes, too! She kills me. The only thing sewing related you will find in my home is a miniature needle and thread emergency kit that I got from a stay at the Fairmont once.

It was a simpler time and if you're reading this, chances are you grew up in this hand me down prism of home sewn clothes, pot roast on Sunday dinners and hours playing in the sprinklers.

Every so often I see something or read something that makes me nostalgic for a much more scaled back and pared down lifestyle.  For a simpler time. I've always been mindful of my sentimental heart, but I'm learning to nurture that hyper awareness for how my life has changed and clicked into a good place. I want it to serve as an appreciation, a motivation tool rather than a rut that makes me yearn for yesterday or focus too much on how quickly time is passing. Because I'm pretty sure that focusing too much on how quickly time is passing and mourning that it's gone only makes it worse. Besides, right now is pretty awesome. Forward, moving on. It can be a real kick in the pants.  

 Still, at times I catch myself trying to recall what my days were like when I was little floating cloudberries. I know that I was generally happy and quite care-free. I know I was loved, daily. Every minute, in fact. I know I had everything I needed and most things I wanted. I know I was taught not to ask for things,  to be content with what I had. I know all of these things, but I'm grasping to capture a few vivid pictures of the mundane moments of my life. They are there, I know they are. I just need to dig a little.

I remember that as a kid I was wild and friendly and a bit spazzy. I talked too much and faked stomachaches when it was time to try new foods. I am fairly certain the correlation between these and my mom's memories is something like zero, give or take.  I'm just assuming here, of course, but I think it's safe to say grown-ups remember The Other Stuff.  The Big Stuff.  The Headlines.  Like the time I got the German measles and almost didn't make it. I've heard the stories, but don't remember a thing.  Or each year's Big Birthday Party (why can't I recall these?).  Or the up-late, night-before assembly sessions.  I'm totally projecting here, but I don't think I'm far off, if my own past years' parenting is any indication.

However.

The loveliest thing about memory, in my experience, is that it's deeply impressionable, open to influence.  And it doesn't require much nudging, in any case, to call to mind all the twinkling bits.


I'll remember, for sure, how we lived on a dead end street, most of the homes filled to the brim with kids all about the same ages. And how, after supper we all ran around playing hide and seek and catching fireflies. It really was all it's cracked up to be, deceptively simple, and fun.  And the universal truth, confirmed once again, that sprinklers in the summer are ridiculously entertaining.  The grown-ups, they seemed to like them, too. I'll not soon forget how I woke up to the Christmas of my dreams one snowy morning.  It is likely that Santa never made it through my list, but somehow he divined my little girl's heart, and crossed off all those many lines with one spot-on show-stopper. My first Barbie doll.

I'll long hold onto this big lump of gratitude over family dinners, every single day. I think back fondly on the way summer vacations re-appeared, every year. and I consider those many miles driving in the car with my family one of the best gifts I was ever given. I remember winters so long we didn't see the grass until April, when we would finally see the squirrels bouncing about like it was the Second Coming, hoovering acorns, dawn to dusk.  The weather was cold, but crisp, bright and blue, sixty two dee-grees and we would be hauling out the shorts and tank tops.  It's not that this was surprising, exactly, but three weeks earlier, it was three below.  You'd better believe we walked to the park.
 

While driving around this past summer, I decided to stop by the "the old house"  I hadn't been there in a while, and being summer, it would have been in full bloom. As I drove up, though, my heart dropped to the floor. It was so small. so run down. I sat in the car and stared with tears in my eyes. The flowers. The trees. The little white picket fence. gone. It was like a piece of my childhood had gone with it. A piece of myself. I don't really know what will come of that place, or who lives there now. I can tell you that it broke my heart into a million pieces.

I have my memories, though. Of the perfect little house with the white picket fence. dancing flowers, and laughter, and friends, and stories about magical sea creatures, and the messy-haired, big-eyed little girl who was fascinated by everything around her. And I have photographs, and this little space, to represent all that it meant to me. And for this sentimental woman, thank goodness for that. My today's are spent soaking up words, and sunshine, and love for my family. I'm hoping for unexpected thrills and quiet, mixed with a strong swig of rowdy. I plan to notice beauty for the grace that it is and wake up early every day.

just sayin'.

Concord Grape-Thyme Bars

	makes 12 large squares

1 pound concord grapes, stemmed
1 tablespoon fresh juice from about 1 lemon
2 cups (about 14 ounces) sugar
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
3 cups (about 15 ounces) all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 large egg
16 tablespoons (8 ounces) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into 1/4-inch pieces

Squeeze grapes between your fingers to separate the skins from the pulp. Place skins in bowl of food processor and pulse until roughly chopped, about 5 pulses. Place pulp in medium saucepan. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, then reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until the grapes lose their shape, about 10 minutes. Pour pulp through a fine mesh sieve into a large bowl. Use a paddle or large spoon to push pulp through sieve. Discard seeds.

Combine grape skins, pulp, lemon juice, and 1 cup sugar in now empty saucepan. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, then reduce heat to medium low and simmer for 30 minutes. Add thyme and continue simmering, stirring frequently, until mixture is reduced and has thickened to a jam-like consistency, about 15 minutes more. Remove saucepan from heat and transfer to a bowl to cool.

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 375°F. Butter a 13- by 9-inch baking dish

In bowl of food processor, combine flour, baking powder, remaining 1 cup sugar, and salt; pulse to combine, about 5 pulses. Add egg and butter and pulse until mixture is cohesive but still crumbly, 8 to 12 pulses.

Press 2/3 of dough into bottom of prepared baking dish. Spread grape jam evenly over dough. Sprinkle remaining dough over jam, leaving pockets of jam visible. Bake until golden and set, about 45 minutes. Transfer to cooling rack and cool completely, about 1 hour. Cut into 12 squares and serve.