Because all we Moyers are traveling this week to Washington to visit my brother's fam and their new baby, we threw a DC Thanksgiving last weekend. I've always wanted to host a family Thanksgiving but have come in from out of town and have never been able to. Our fanksgiving plan unfolded slowly, changing houses along the way, and all of the sudden I was hosting! Because I was only responsible for the turkey (and almost dropped the ball since I shopped the day before and, of course, in mid-November there were only frozen birds in the stores), and had been reading Bon Appetit for days, I got to pick a couple of extras (though there are about a dozen sides or more I'd like to try -- maybe a few a week throughout December!).
Here are two little additions I recommend!
Cranberry Margarita
from Bon Appetit Nov 2013
Cranberry Jam
3/4 c fresh cranberries
1/4 c sugar
1 t finely grated orange zest
2 T fresh orange juice
Assembly
1 T kosher salt
1 T sugar
1 1/2 t Chinese five-spice powder
1 lime wedge, plus 2 oz fresh lime juice
4 oz fresh OJ
6 oz tequila
Jam: bring cranberries, sugar, orange juice, and 1/4 c water to boil in a small sauce pan; reduce heat and let simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickens, 30-40 minutes. Mix in orange zest, let cool.
(can be made 5 days ahead, covered and kept in fridge)
Assembly: Mix salt sugar and five-spice powder on small plate (this recipe makes a LOT of salt/sug/spice -- you could definitely cut the amounts in half). Rub rims of glasses with lime and dip in salt mixture. Fill glasses with ice.
For each cocktail, combine 1/2 oz lime juice, 1 oz orange juice, 1 1/2 oz tequila, and 2 T cranberry jam in a cocktail shaker. Fill shaker with ice and shake until outside is frosty, about 30 seconds. Strain and pour into glass.
*this drink is not very sweet, so we ended up adding some dollops of cranberry sauce we'd just made to the drinks to sweeten it up*
*also, a couple of people in our crew were horrified by the idea of 5 spice powder rimming their glasses. A couple of them rose to the occasion though and discovered that the flavors surprisingly work and blend all together. A couple just opted out (wimpy)*
Pomegranate-Mint Relish
also from Bon Appetit Nov 2013
1/2 small shallot, chopped
1 1/2 c pomegranate seeds
1/2 c olive oil
1 1/2 finely grated lemon zest
1 T lemon juice
1 T red wine vinegar
1 c finely chopped fresh mint
Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper
Combine shallot, pomegranate seeds, oil, lemon zest, lemon juice, vinegar, chopped mint in a small bowl; season with salt and pepper.
(can make a day ahead and chilled without the mint -- add mint before serving)
This was a fun addition, a different set of flavors at the Thanksgiving table, but the bright pomegranates and tang of vinegar was great with turkey.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
ripe pears
This morning I stood in the kitchen while it was still dark, wintry white just beginning to seep into the low trees. Maeve sat on the counter, as she does, head a hair below the bottom of the cabinets. I picked up a pear whose skin looked like it had been painted dandelion yellow before the green wash went down. I stood cutting one thin slice at a time, the way I learned watching my grandmother cut apples, knife toward her thumb. The slippery white pieces trickled juice down Maeve's hand as she shoved them in her mouth, Maeve who shakes her little head at the suggestion of any food beyond milk, bananas, and stoned wheat thin crackers. This morning, she didn't refuse, and together we ate a pear, one slim slice at a time, while the house slept above us.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Baby Fairies
Yesterday morning as I wheeled around to face Ben, frustration crackling through my body as Maeve, for the zillionth time that morning, shook her head no at the food I was offering and wildly threw it all over the floor.
He smiled at me. Do you want to give her back to the Baby Fairies?
Yes, without hesitation. I looked at her soft curly hair and moony baby face. Yes, I do.
In fact I've wanted to every day this week as she's added witchiness to the once-peaceful witching hour, and I haven't known how to satiate her.
Last night sleep and popcorn making collided -- so much just-getting-warm in the blankets and then POP! someone cries and up I go. All. Night. Long. On one of the visits to Maeve's room, we sat in the chair, her head tucked snugly in the crook of my neck, little arms around my arms with a koala grip, and rocked. This, I thought, is what I love. As soon as I thought it, I realized why I've felt so bewildered and disappointed this week: I still think I have a baby. I'm still expecting someone loose and snuggled in my arms, someone whose needs I meet easily with a bottle. I'm not prepared for defiance yet, even one year old uncoordinated head shaking that makes her fall down when she walks (because she shakes her head and tries to run away from me!!!) I'm not prepared for a baby with strong preferences who wants to eat ONLY bananas, cottage cheese, cereal and yogurt (is that ok??) rather than whatever great foods I offer. But here we are at 13 1/2 months in the toddler years.
Maeve, I am sorry I wanted to give you to those fairies, though they would have loved you. I promise not to give you away.
He smiled at me. Do you want to give her back to the Baby Fairies?
Yes, without hesitation. I looked at her soft curly hair and moony baby face. Yes, I do.
In fact I've wanted to every day this week as she's added witchiness to the once-peaceful witching hour, and I haven't known how to satiate her.
Last night sleep and popcorn making collided -- so much just-getting-warm in the blankets and then POP! someone cries and up I go. All. Night. Long. On one of the visits to Maeve's room, we sat in the chair, her head tucked snugly in the crook of my neck, little arms around my arms with a koala grip, and rocked. This, I thought, is what I love. As soon as I thought it, I realized why I've felt so bewildered and disappointed this week: I still think I have a baby. I'm still expecting someone loose and snuggled in my arms, someone whose needs I meet easily with a bottle. I'm not prepared for defiance yet, even one year old uncoordinated head shaking that makes her fall down when she walks (because she shakes her head and tries to run away from me!!!) I'm not prepared for a baby with strong preferences who wants to eat ONLY bananas, cottage cheese, cereal and yogurt (is that ok??) rather than whatever great foods I offer. But here we are at 13 1/2 months in the toddler years.
Maeve, I am sorry I wanted to give you to those fairies, though they would have loved you. I promise not to give you away.
Thursday, November 07, 2013
Superpowers
If I could have any superpower, it's always been to teleport -- more than flying, more than superhuman strength, I'd love to blink my eyes and arrive (it's the destination, not the journey...). But tonight for the first time, I wanted a power more than that. I wanted the superpower to multiply myself and maintain a unified consciousness -- to at once rake in the yard with Ben; sit on the yellow couch with Eden, stroke her hair and ask her dozens of questions about her day; wrestle through word sorts and spelling words with Silas in the dining room; pick up crying Maeve who is clinging to my leg and rock her weight against me; stand in the kitchen alone to open the oven without fighting off Maeve with my leg; walk alone under the pinkening-gold that's spilling over the clouds right now and take a deep breath -- to be fully present to all of these at once.
Instead, though, I am leaving Ben to rake thousands of leaves alone while Silas and I work on "fruit" and "suit" and "dude;" I'm running outside to rake with Ben until Maeve's yelling turns to crying in the half-dark yard and I have to carry her in kicking and put her in the tub; I'm sitting alone for three minutes on the kitchen floor, Maeve screaming in her bed, with a glass of Malbec writing as I wait for the lasagna to be done; and then unexpectedly, I have a stolen moment with Eden who pokes her head in. I get to hold her 5 year old self for a minute and ask about the fireworks of her day.
{now it is tomorrow}
After everyone was finally tucked under blankets and quieted by the dark, the 60 degree day faded to a night still warm enough to sit in. Ben and I walked outside and sat on the front step, a slivered moon lit up through the branches. The air smelled sweet -- leaves and earth and the cool dark -- and absorbed some of the exhaustion we both carried from raking and wrangling. We just sat, looking at a scattering of bright stars and for a moment, I didn't need to be anywhere else.
Today Silas is home with a fever. After the tylenol kicked in, what he most wanted to do was make a cardboard house (inspired by the wonderful book, If I Built a House -- love Chris Van Dusen) for his two bears. I loved his wanting to house his bears and create something. But standing there with Maeve clinging to my legs crying -- because either she doesn't feel well, some tooth deep in her gums is pressing, or she's simply ornery already at the age of one -- feeling sleep deficiency stinging my eyes and making my head heavy, I couldn't imagine helping him set up for that project. So he cried, and I felt like I failed him. Maeve yelled and clung, and I at least got breakfast's cold items back into the fridge.
But the day went on, as they do, and time extended its arms, as it sometimes does. Maeve slept. I ate avocado on toast. Silas paged through some books and started to make the box house on his own. Armed with a long serrated knife and gorilla tape (I couldn't find the glue gun), I came to help. We cut windows and doors that he designed, hung curtains that look like stained glass, taped up a package delivery slot, and fastened fabric across the roof. I think it still looks a lot like a mailing box with a little paper glued to it, and fabric taped on the inside, but he is thrilled. He keeps walking by saying, "I can't believe we finished my house!!" "I can't believe I made such a cool house today!" A little effort worth it.
Eden got off the bus crabby and angry about missing house-building and a day at home -- and hungry (hangry!) because she didn't eat her lunch. Maeve continued her yelling/incessant hold me!/shaking her head no, and Silas's fever kicked back in. Hairy.
But now, we are waiting for Chinese food to come. Silas's fever broke and he's making music on the ipad, while Eden plays with Maeve in the basement -- a playing that sounds like lots of shrieking and LOUD squealing laughter. They have a magic chemistry where somehow their four years difference dissolves into play they both understand.
This must be how days work -- frenetic to calmed, racing to lying on the ground looking at the leaves. A woman I knew in California called it inhales and exhales of the day. We need both, she said. These inhales seem to last so long that my chest hurts and my throat feels tight, but then, at some point, I always get to exhale, even a short exhale and there's release. And so, as I pause at the table for a second, before the onslaught of dinner and bedtime, I will tell myself to keep on breathing.
Instead, though, I am leaving Ben to rake thousands of leaves alone while Silas and I work on "fruit" and "suit" and "dude;" I'm running outside to rake with Ben until Maeve's yelling turns to crying in the half-dark yard and I have to carry her in kicking and put her in the tub; I'm sitting alone for three minutes on the kitchen floor, Maeve screaming in her bed, with a glass of Malbec writing as I wait for the lasagna to be done; and then unexpectedly, I have a stolen moment with Eden who pokes her head in. I get to hold her 5 year old self for a minute and ask about the fireworks of her day.
{now it is tomorrow}
After everyone was finally tucked under blankets and quieted by the dark, the 60 degree day faded to a night still warm enough to sit in. Ben and I walked outside and sat on the front step, a slivered moon lit up through the branches. The air smelled sweet -- leaves and earth and the cool dark -- and absorbed some of the exhaustion we both carried from raking and wrangling. We just sat, looking at a scattering of bright stars and for a moment, I didn't need to be anywhere else.
Today Silas is home with a fever. After the tylenol kicked in, what he most wanted to do was make a cardboard house (inspired by the wonderful book, If I Built a House -- love Chris Van Dusen) for his two bears. I loved his wanting to house his bears and create something. But standing there with Maeve clinging to my legs crying -- because either she doesn't feel well, some tooth deep in her gums is pressing, or she's simply ornery already at the age of one -- feeling sleep deficiency stinging my eyes and making my head heavy, I couldn't imagine helping him set up for that project. So he cried, and I felt like I failed him. Maeve yelled and clung, and I at least got breakfast's cold items back into the fridge.
But the day went on, as they do, and time extended its arms, as it sometimes does. Maeve slept. I ate avocado on toast. Silas paged through some books and started to make the box house on his own. Armed with a long serrated knife and gorilla tape (I couldn't find the glue gun), I came to help. We cut windows and doors that he designed, hung curtains that look like stained glass, taped up a package delivery slot, and fastened fabric across the roof. I think it still looks a lot like a mailing box with a little paper glued to it, and fabric taped on the inside, but he is thrilled. He keeps walking by saying, "I can't believe we finished my house!!" "I can't believe I made such a cool house today!" A little effort worth it.
Eden got off the bus crabby and angry about missing house-building and a day at home -- and hungry (hangry!) because she didn't eat her lunch. Maeve continued her yelling/incessant hold me!/shaking her head no, and Silas's fever kicked back in. Hairy.
But now, we are waiting for Chinese food to come. Silas's fever broke and he's making music on the ipad, while Eden plays with Maeve in the basement -- a playing that sounds like lots of shrieking and LOUD squealing laughter. They have a magic chemistry where somehow their four years difference dissolves into play they both understand.
This must be how days work -- frenetic to calmed, racing to lying on the ground looking at the leaves. A woman I knew in California called it inhales and exhales of the day. We need both, she said. These inhales seem to last so long that my chest hurts and my throat feels tight, but then, at some point, I always get to exhale, even a short exhale and there's release. And so, as I pause at the table for a second, before the onslaught of dinner and bedtime, I will tell myself to keep on breathing.
Friday, November 01, 2013
a Happy Halloween
I am sitting at the table with Halloween remnants scattered around me: a bowl of clementines with jack-o-lantern faces drawn on, a witch's broom on the floor, unwashed travel mugs of spiked cider (so good), a stack or orange paper plates, yarn for making ghosts' necks, and, of course, candy, my own Reese's cup wrapper at my wrist.
Halloween this year was ideal -- all of the dark, murderous, gory stuff held at bay. Instead there were neighbors gathered, kids on swings, throw-back costumes (Michael Jackson, skeletons, witches, cat in the hat), pizza, and streets teaming with kids. Once, when Silas was two, I broke up with Halloween. Good to know, even Halloween break-ups can be redeemed.
Halloween this year was ideal -- all of the dark, murderous, gory stuff held at bay. Instead there were neighbors gathered, kids on swings, throw-back costumes (Michael Jackson, skeletons, witches, cat in the hat), pizza, and streets teaming with kids. Once, when Silas was two, I broke up with Halloween. Good to know, even Halloween break-ups can be redeemed.
That's Silas's real hair -- gelatin does wonders -- and he now wants to wear a mohawk to school every day...
My mom, Goldilocks, was my favorite.
Spiced Apple Cider
from Bon Appetit
1 gallon apple cider
1 T whole allspice (I used ground and less than that)
1 t freshly grated nutmeg (I used dry and less)
4 whole cloves
3 cinnamon sticks
1 vanilla bean
Brandy, Calvados (apple brandy), or Bourbon (I used bourbon)
- Combine cider, allspice, nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon sticks in a large pot. Scrape in seeds from vanilla bean; add bean. Bring spiced cider just to a simmer over medium heat. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook just below a simmer until flavors meld, about 1 hour.
- Strain cider through a sieve into another pot or heatproof punch bowl; discard solids in sieve. Add brandy/bourbon to taste, if using.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
a poem for today by Charlotte Matthews
Patron Saint of the Convenience Store
In this life we cannot do great things.
We can only do small things with great love.
--Mother Teresa
Think how tired she must be,
after she's drawn letters in the dirt,
jumped rope with beggar children,
cradled a man in the streets of Calcutta.
She can still come up with phrases
well worth writing down.
And here she is, in the 7-11,
buying clove cigarettes to bring
back the smell of High Mass.
Me -- my purchase? A bright red
Tootsie pop, hard-shelled exterior
that only gives way and melts.
I'm thinking how bleak
the emptied city pool looked
on my way over, how it'll be
winter soon so sadness will set in.
She stands unswerving, probably
coming up with another great quote.
It is only through repetition
that we make ourselves.
Her heart, like this store, is never closed.
I follower her out the automatic doors
to the steamy black parking lot.
She slides into her seat, adjusts
her habit, drives away.
(published in The American Poetry Review May/June 2013)
In this life we cannot do great things.
We can only do small things with great love.
--Mother Teresa
Think how tired she must be,
after she's drawn letters in the dirt,
jumped rope with beggar children,
cradled a man in the streets of Calcutta.
She can still come up with phrases
well worth writing down.
And here she is, in the 7-11,
buying clove cigarettes to bring
back the smell of High Mass.
Me -- my purchase? A bright red
Tootsie pop, hard-shelled exterior
that only gives way and melts.
I'm thinking how bleak
the emptied city pool looked
on my way over, how it'll be
winter soon so sadness will set in.
She stands unswerving, probably
coming up with another great quote.
It is only through repetition
that we make ourselves.
Her heart, like this store, is never closed.
I follower her out the automatic doors
to the steamy black parking lot.
She slides into her seat, adjusts
her habit, drives away.
(published in The American Poetry Review May/June 2013)
Monday, October 21, 2013
It's All a Little Better Now
It's 8:31 and I'm toying with going to bed, which means I'll probably get under the covers soon, read Bon Appétit, write in my journal, make some lists about tomorrow, think about cracking open the Bonhoeffer autobiography, text with Lindsay a few times because it will be pre-dinner making in her time zone, come down stairs for a glass of water, get back under the covers, make another list, probably about Christmas (seriously, I've started. I love-hate that) or my brother's birthday party. And then it will be 11 and I'll be cursing myself for staying up so long. This is pretty much how it goes every single night, and then it's 5AM, and Maeve is wide awake in America.
What do they say the definition of insanity is, repeating the same action and expecting different results? Well, my "attempts" at being rested may fall into that category...
{oh, I should qualify that Ben is out, which is why there is no mention of him at all -- usually we do talk to each other, in case there was concern}
Today was a day of stuff: car that will barely start + really want sweet coffee = left the car running in the parking lot (for fear that it wouldn't start again if I cut the engine) and went in to order a a mocha with caramel drizzle (...) While there, the pediatrician whose office is in that same parking lot called to say I was, unbeknownst to me, supposed to be at their office. SO, I left my car running longer and walked over to the doctor's where she told me that, yes, as I could tell from the lack of crying, fever, and sleeplessness, Maeve is better. Thank you. Next time I will ditch the $20 follow up... Gladly, my car was still running in the parking lot when I came out {small congratulations to the people who resisted the obscene temptation to drive off with a perfectly fine car} so I drove to the body shop to explain the starting problem and tell them it sounds an unplugged robot winding down each time I turn it off. On the way home (in another car) I found a witch's broom for $2.99, some fluorescent tights with tiny witches flying on them for my big witch to wear, and orange and green hair spray.
Then I stopped. Maeve napped for what felt like two days, and I sat on my bed. Last fall I spent a lot of each day sitting on my bed nursing Maeve. I watched leaves of the hundred year old oak trees change from green to yellow to golden against the bright flat blue skies, and listened to Ben and the kids raking, swinging, playing below.
Today we had that kind of sky, and wind whirled the leaves.
I almost can't remember those days of sitting on my bed with someone so small. What did she sound like?
A friend just posted this on Facebook: "Pick up the nearest book, turn to page 45. The first sentence explains your love life." There is no book to be seen near me. Bowl of edamame? Yes. Eden's asthma chart? Yes. Pumpkins and gourds? Yes. Napkins, bulbs to plant, a tub of markers, school folders, a bottle of wine, a bottle of bubbles, some mail? Yes. No book. Oh! one book! shoved under Silas's homework folder. I picked it up and turned to page 45: "Who are you?"
I laughed -- I'm glad that does not explain my love life!
But then I thought.
Sometimes when people are so close to me, so in the thick of the every day, so familiar, I forget how utterly mysterious and other they are. Today sitting on my bed was kind of about that. After a morning of maintaining -- cars, children, caffeine desires, Halloween wishes -- I got to sit and remember mystery. Sunday at the church we were visiting, each 2nd grader was given a Bible in front of the congregation. The moment was personal and sweet -- they clearly knew each kid. 2nd grade Silas sitting two seats away from me (anger distance) was devastated to be sitting with us instead of standing with the kids -- an insult to the injury that we are visiting churches in the first place. So today, I wrote him a long letter in the cover of a Bible that I "presented" to him tonight. In that letter I wrote about mystery, God's mystery in the midst of all we learn, the mystery of the man Silas will be, the mystery of a book that's written Spirit to spirit. Mystery.
So here at the end of the day, "who are you?" may actually be a good question for my love life -- another invitation to step back and look again.
What do they say the definition of insanity is, repeating the same action and expecting different results? Well, my "attempts" at being rested may fall into that category...
{oh, I should qualify that Ben is out, which is why there is no mention of him at all -- usually we do talk to each other, in case there was concern}
Today was a day of stuff: car that will barely start + really want sweet coffee = left the car running in the parking lot (for fear that it wouldn't start again if I cut the engine) and went in to order a a mocha with caramel drizzle (...) While there, the pediatrician whose office is in that same parking lot called to say I was, unbeknownst to me, supposed to be at their office. SO, I left my car running longer and walked over to the doctor's where she told me that, yes, as I could tell from the lack of crying, fever, and sleeplessness, Maeve is better. Thank you. Next time I will ditch the $20 follow up... Gladly, my car was still running in the parking lot when I came out {small congratulations to the people who resisted the obscene temptation to drive off with a perfectly fine car} so I drove to the body shop to explain the starting problem and tell them it sounds an unplugged robot winding down each time I turn it off. On the way home (in another car) I found a witch's broom for $2.99, some fluorescent tights with tiny witches flying on them for my big witch to wear, and orange and green hair spray.
Then I stopped. Maeve napped for what felt like two days, and I sat on my bed. Last fall I spent a lot of each day sitting on my bed nursing Maeve. I watched leaves of the hundred year old oak trees change from green to yellow to golden against the bright flat blue skies, and listened to Ben and the kids raking, swinging, playing below.
Today we had that kind of sky, and wind whirled the leaves.
I almost can't remember those days of sitting on my bed with someone so small. What did she sound like?
A friend just posted this on Facebook: "Pick up the nearest book, turn to page 45. The first sentence explains your love life." There is no book to be seen near me. Bowl of edamame? Yes. Eden's asthma chart? Yes. Pumpkins and gourds? Yes. Napkins, bulbs to plant, a tub of markers, school folders, a bottle of wine, a bottle of bubbles, some mail? Yes. No book. Oh! one book! shoved under Silas's homework folder. I picked it up and turned to page 45: "Who are you?"
I laughed -- I'm glad that does not explain my love life!
But then I thought.
Sometimes when people are so close to me, so in the thick of the every day, so familiar, I forget how utterly mysterious and other they are. Today sitting on my bed was kind of about that. After a morning of maintaining -- cars, children, caffeine desires, Halloween wishes -- I got to sit and remember mystery. Sunday at the church we were visiting, each 2nd grader was given a Bible in front of the congregation. The moment was personal and sweet -- they clearly knew each kid. 2nd grade Silas sitting two seats away from me (anger distance) was devastated to be sitting with us instead of standing with the kids -- an insult to the injury that we are visiting churches in the first place. So today, I wrote him a long letter in the cover of a Bible that I "presented" to him tonight. In that letter I wrote about mystery, God's mystery in the midst of all we learn, the mystery of the man Silas will be, the mystery of a book that's written Spirit to spirit. Mystery.
So here at the end of the day, "who are you?" may actually be a good question for my love life -- another invitation to step back and look again.
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