Advice, and Double Dark Chocolate Beet Muffins

Yesterday, my friend Kathy hosted her monthly Time Warp Tuesday blog hop.  I missed the hop, but I loved the theme for this month, which was Advice.


I tend to give a lot of advice, I suspect, not even under the guise of opinion; I probably offer it up as fact.  Though I was trained in advising, and when I'm working with students I'm careful not to give advice so much as facilitate their own inner dialogue, there are plenty of times outside of my professional duties when I offer up my own ideas about someone else's dilemmas.

I ask for advice a lot, too, but I don't take advice very well; more often than not I am--even subconsciously--looking for verification of an opinion I've already arrived at, and would like confirmation of my choice.

But the tables were turned on me a bit this week, on Sunday, when I was sitting with my son for a while before he went to sleep.

"I'm nervous about my first day," I confided.

"It's OK, Mom," he told me, "I was nervous about my first day of school, too."

"You were?" I asked, both amused and genuinely surprised.  "But you looked so confident when you waved good bye to me on the bus.  What were you most nervous about?  Meeting new people?  Having someone ask you something you didn't know the answer to?"

"Yes, not knowing the answer," he agreed. 

"Well, that's what I'm most afraid of," I said.  "That I won't know the things they want me to know."

"Well," he said, thoughtfully, "just remember, that if they ask you something you don't know, it's OK to tell them you don't know, and then ask them questions, so they can help you out."

Wow, I thought. Pretty fabulous advice for a six year old.  Better, even, than "eat your vegetables so you can grow up big and strong."

I followed his advice, and told my new boss what he'd told me that night.  "How old did you say he was?" she asked.

"Six," I said.

"He is wise beyond his years," she marveled.

Yes, I agreed.  Except when he really does act like a six year old, and thinks that poop jokes are the funniest thing ever.  And I couldn't be more grateful for both elements.
 

Double Dark Chocolate Beet Muffins

Eat your vegetables and grow up big and strong.  I made these with our CSA share to take to the Cape for the week we spent before my first day, and I told everyone right up front that they were made with beets.  That didn't seem to matter, and they were gone in less than two days.

1 c. beet puree (use about 3 good-sized beets; see below)
1 c. whole wheat flour
1 c. all-purpose flour
2 t. baking powder
1 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt

1/4 c. ground flax seed
1/2 c. Ghirardelli bittersweet chocolate chips
1/4 c. butter

2/3 c. Ghirardelli bittersweet chocolate chips
3/4 c. packed brown sugar
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2/3 c. buttermilk
1 t. vanilla extract

1 T. espresso powder

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Wrap beets in foil. Place on a baking sheet; bake until beets are slightly soft to the touch, 45 minutes to 1 hour depending on their size. Cool beets in packets, then rub off skins under cold running water (use a paring knife for tough spots).  Puree one at a time until you get 1 c. (you can set aside the unpureed parts, if there are any, for a salad).  Cool completely.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.  Line a 12-cup muffin tin; set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flours, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and flax until well combined.  Stir in the half cup chocolate chips; set aside.

In a small saucepan, melt the other 2/3 cup chocolate chips and butter over very low heat.  Stir to combine and set aside to cool until lukewarm.

In a medium bowl, whisk together eggs, brown sugar, beet puree, buttermilk, vanilla and melted chocolate.  Pour the chocolate mixture into the dry ingredients and stir with a wooden spoon until just combined. Don’t overmix. Immediately spoon batter into prepared muffin cups.  The batter will almost completely fill the cups.

Place muffin pan in a preheated 375 oven and bake for 18-20 minutes. Muffins are done when they spring back when touched lightly in the center (or when a toothpick inserted in the center of a muffin comes out clean). Cool muffins for 10 minutes in pan then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely.

On the Boycott of Playdates, and Raw Broccoli Salad

When I was little, we lived in a neighborhood in which there were always kids within walking distance.  Two sisters my age lived across the street.  A family with three girls lived up the block.  Two little boys my brother's age lived around the block.  And while I wasn't around much after school because my parents were both teachers and we spent a good chunk of the afternoon commuting, it was still nice to know that if I was bored, all I had to do was go ring their doorbell.

As I got older, and was entrusted to go a little farther on my own, I had a friend who lived two streets away, and I'd ride my bike to her house, where we would spend long afternoons pretending in her attic.  And finally, when I got to high school, I'd head by bike to a friend's house two towns and several miles away.

I know that this is a different time and age than the one in which I grew up.  But there are some things that I don't know if we need to give up just yet.  Like the impromptu doorbell-ring.

There are some neighborhoods where this is not possible, for a host of reasons.  The houses are too far apart.  There aren't enough similarly-aged children in the neighborhood.  You folks get a pass.

And there are some neighborhoods where the impromptu doorbell-ring (or simply entering with a passel of friends without the extra step of ringing) is alive and well.  You folks aren't the people I'm talking about here, either.

We live on a street with no fewer than five boys and girls who are I's age.  There are also three children N's age.  And yet, hardly ever does anyone ring the doorbell.  Instead, we organize elaborate playdates, mostly with children who don't even live on our block.

My son and I were talking about this one night, after I'd put him to bed.  About how I dislike the word "playdate," because it feels so contrived.  Like our toddlers need iPhones from birth, scheduling their play and organizing their relationships.  And how the arrangement feels exclusive to me; once you've committed to a "playdate" with one friend, you can't add a third random friend to the mix, who happens to ring the doorbell.


Partially as a follow-up to the conversation, the next morning, on a Saturday, I sent I. up the block to his friend's house to ring the doorbell, with instructions that upon the door opening, he was to invite said friend over to our house to play.  "But what if they're not home?" he worried.

"Then come home," I answered.

"What if he doesn't want to come over here, and what if he asks me to go there?" he asked.

"Then ask to use the phone, and call us to tell us that you're going to stay," I said.  "That's fine with me, as long as I know where you are.  And I'll tell you when we'll come pick you up."

"What if he doesn't want to play?"

"Then tell him thanks anyway, and tell him that you'll see him later, and come home."

He seemed satisfied with this, and skipped up the street.  It turned out that his friend's mom wasn't able to open the door, but she called later to bring the friend over to play for a while.  My son was thrilled.

Even as adults, we seem to tiptoe around each others' lives.  We don't call up friends without a reason any more, because Facebook takes care of our quick check-ins.  We don't drop by randomly for a cup of coffee, at least, most of us I know don't.  Or I don't.  And I feel like it's a dying art, the art of the unexpected visit, the art of intrusive friendship.  I feel like it's an art my children need to learn, if they're going to learn to notice people, and care about them, even when those people don't tell them that they need to be cared about.

So I've decided that for now, I'm going to boycott playdates.  I'm going to randomly call up my friends and ask if they want to come play [*edited later to add: with as much acknowledgement of work schedules as possible, and understanding when people have prior commitments!].  I'm going to send my children to ring doorbells, and interrupt our over-scheduled lives.  I'm going to welcome people to my house if they come calling, and always have something I can throw together and offer up as a light lunch.  Because sometimes the most fulfilling moments are the ones we never put on the calendar in the first place.

Do you -- or your children, if you have them -- ring doorbells?  Or do you tend to make plans to see friends?

Broccoli and Kohlrabi Salad
I've been thinking about this salad as an antidote to all of the unhealthy eating from the holidays, and with a crusty loaf of bread, it's a perfect throw-together kind of meal that's fancy enough to offer a guest.  Kohrabi is cool-weather vegetable, and one of the first and last things that we get in our CSA shares.  If you're looking through seed catalogues yet, as we often do here in the midwinter, it might be something to add to your order.

1 head broccoli, stems removed and cut into florets
1 c. kohlrabi, finely chopped
1/2 c. golden raisins
1/2 c. sunflower seeds
1 avocado, peeled and pitted
3 T. lemon juice
3 T. orange juice
2 T. lime juice
2 T. apple cider vinegar
1 T. agave
3 T. oil of your choice
6-7 chive blossoms (you may not have these right now, so you can always use a scallion or two, but the chive blossoms are really lovely and light)

Toss together broccoli, kohlrabi, raisins, and seeds.  In a blender, blend remaining ingredients.  Pour over vegetables.

Break apart chive blossoms into small bits and scatter over the salad.

On Freecycling, and Healthy Pumpkin Pie Dip

I am the first to admit it: I have my father's frugal genes.

I hate being in debt.  I like a good bargain.  But I'm not a coupon shopper; rather than buying something at a discount, I will talk myself out of needing it or wanting it at all.  My husband often jokes that our relationship defies traditional gender conventions: he urges me to go buy myself some clothes, and I urge him to go buy a motorcycle.

The effects of my genes are further complicated--or perhaps even amplified--by a borderline obsessive desire to reduce, reuse, and recycle.  I'm the person who digs plastic bottles and toilet paper rolls from the garbage.  I save tissue paper and bags and ribbons from presents, to use again.  I write on the back of my shopping lists.

Which is why I love Freecycle.

If you've never Freecycled before, it works like this: you join a group in your region (a town, a county, even a workplace) where people post classifieds divided into three categories: OFFER, WANTED, and TAKEN.  The categories are self-explanatory.  People who want to give something away post it as an "offer."  Interested people contact the poster anonymously through the site.  The poster responds to the Freecycler of choice (usually the first one to claim the item) with information about location for pickup, and the Freecycler goes to pick up said item.  Quite often the item is left on the porch or in a mailbox or on a doorstep.  Sometimes the items are small: holiday decorations, lamps, salt and pepper shakers, DVDs.  Sometimes the items are large: exercise equipment, laptop computers, etc.

Though I already have standing arrangements to pass down my kids' clothing, I've been Freecycling a lot more lately, trying to find homes for things we don't need (we recently gave away N's pack and play, and crib, and some toys, for example), and trying to find things I do need that others might not.  And one of the things I could use are some new fall/winter clothes.

Don't get me wrong.  We are not impoverished, and my husband has encouraged me to go shopping.  He doesn't understand my fascination with, as he puts it, "clothes you find on the side of the road."  I joke that at least I haven't yet found a dress at the dump, as his aunt did for her daughter's wedding.  But I'm also aware that I'm not currently adding income to our household, and I hate buying something new that would be perfectly good used.

So I jumped when I saw the post.

OFFER: Large bag of women's clothes.  Most size M and some S.  Tank tops, long sleeved shirts, pants, shorts, a few gym clothes.

It was in a town about 15 minutes' drive away.  Totally doable.  I emailed the poster and said I'd be happy to come by if she didn't have any takers yet.  To my delight, she informed me that I "won," and that she'd leave the bag outside for me.

After I put the kids to bed, I left S. holding down the fort, and ventured out.  The house wasn't too hard to find, though it was dark, and I walked up to the door, squinting to see if I could locate said bag.  In the dim light, I made it out, sitting on a chair.  Much larger than I'd imagined.  And, picking it up, I thought, heavier, too.  WOW!

I drove home on winding country roads, listening to the radio, enjoying the crisp fall air, feeling extremely satisfied with myself, looking forward to the surprise of unpacking the bag.

And I was not disappointed; it was like Christmas!  What great taste this woman had!  What perfect colors!  I began to sort things into piles of "RIGHT SIZE" and "NO WAY IN HELL CAN I WEAR THIS," already thinking about how I was going to keep the cycle going with the second category. Wouldn't it be great to bring some of these to the next women's clothing swap at church?  Small, medium.  Small.  Small.  Medium, but ... er, nope, that doesn't fit.  Small.  Medium that really ought to be marked as small.  Medium that is skin-tight.  Suddenly the "NO WAY IN HELL" pile was much larger than the "RIGHT SIZE" pile.  And then, it had only two things in it.  Well, shit.  So much for Christmas.


I frowned, poking and prodding at my belly, which is a bit doughier than it used to be.  I still love Freecycle, though.  At least I'll have some great things to bring to the next clothing swap.

Maybe I'd better lay off the cake and eat more of this.

Healthy Pumpkin Pie Dip
Remember that really bad-for-you dip with the cream cheese and powdered sugar?  Try this instead.  Much more satisfying, and absolutely good for you.

1 c. canned or fresh pureed pumpkin
1 c. plain nonfat greek yogurt (vegans can also use coconut greek yogurt here)
1/2 t. to 1 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. to 1 t. ginger
dash nutmeg
sweetener of choice: a few drops of stevia, a squirt of honey or agave
apples for dipping (though you can also use graham crackers or animal crackers or gingersnaps)

Stir together all of the ingredients except the apples.

Add spice and sweetener as necessary.  Serve with apples to dip.

Perfect Moment Monday: Simple Birthdays and Strawberry Muffins

Perfect Moment Monday is a monthly blog hop/writing prompt, sponsored by Lavender Luz at Write Mind Open Heart, about noticing a perfect moment rather than creating one. Perfect moments can be momentous or ordinary or somewhere in between. On the last Monday of each month we engage in mindfulness about something that is right with our world. Everyone is welcome to join.

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When my son was old enough to start attending birthday parties, I was a little bit appalled at the kinds of birthday parties being thrown for the preschool and kindergarten aged set.  I felt lucky when he didn't complain about a party-in-the-park that turned into a big-playdate-at-our-house due to rain one year, and when he asked, at age four, for an "adults-only" celebration.  Last year, we celebrated more traditionally with a space-themed party at our house, but, type A person that I am, I spent months planning and preparing.

When we asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday this year, he told us that he only wanted one person at his party: a little girl who has been his friend and constant companion since he was a toddler.

We love A.  She has the impish grin of an elf, but the seriousness and thoughtfulness of a much older child.  She insists on wearing dresses, but also on climbing trees.  They met when my son went to Montessori school, in the Toddler House, where they spent hours together, since both sets of parents were working full time.  When they moved up to the Primary level, they went to separate classrooms, and were thrilled when those classrooms had to be combined due to some downsizing at the school.  The teachers joked that they were inseparable.  I. and A. talked about getting married, about buying a house at the beach, about how many cars and campers and tractor trailers they were going to have.  It was sweet.  And yet, maybe a little too sweet?

I wouldn't say that we tried to dissuade him from his "party for two," but we gave him every opportunity to renege on the decision. I worried about what her parents would think.  What about your other friends? we asked several times over the next month.  What about the boys?  Every time, he shook his head.  No, he'd say, firmly, I just want to have A. over.  Finally, he became annoyed, and said, in that unmistakeable teenager-y voice, "Mom, haven't you been listening to me?"

Well, I had.  But I hadn't.

I.'s birthday would be early in his first year in a new school, in a class full of people he didn't know.  Of course he wouldn't feel comfortable inviting any of those new people to a party.  And maybe he felt like he just wanted something quiet, and familiar: the companionship of a friend whom he hadn't seen since camp ended, and whom he wouldn't see again for many months.

We agreed, and I offered to take them out to tea, at a local place that does high tea the English way, with small sandwiches, scones, and small desserts.  I'd taken I. before, just the two of us, and he enjoyed the attention, the multiple courses, and feeling grown up; he swilled decaf fruit tea like a pro.  He set about designing an invitation immediately, which I didn't even get to see before he sealed it up and sent it off.  (I still don't know what it said, though A.'s parents assure us that it was entirely appropriate.)

I.'s birthday was a perfect fall day: warm but not hot, breezy without the chill.  A. arrived at mid-day, dressed in blue flowers, and I chauffered them both downtown in the MegaWagon.  We ordered one prince and one princess tea, and they chatted and giggled over banana-nutella sandwiches and strawberries and scones while I tried to eat my salad as inconspicuously as possible.  The staff came out with a candle-adorned cupcake in the middle of generous plates of desserts, and sang happy birthday, as I. beamed, and his companion looked on, grinning broadly.

When tea was over, they went browsing at the adjacent shop that sells all things porcelain, and conspiratorially ran ahead of me back to the wagon.  It was hard going on the way back, since I'd drunk an entire pot of tea by myself, and I made the usual adult groaning noises, which they thought were extremely funny.  Finally, about three quarters of the way back, they decided to pull the wagon together up the hill to our house.

And as I walked behind them, feeling the warm autumn sun on my face, I thought about the beauty of uncomplicated friendships, of the completeness of children's love, and felt grateful both that I. has a friend like A., and that he recognizes what a gem she is.  I felt glad that he didn't feel the need to have a big party in order to feel celebrated, and lucky to have a little boy who has already figured out what's really important.  At one point, I was struck by how perfect it was, watching them walk together, and I snapped this picture with my camera phone,  I hoped that they would always remember that first friendship, and remember how it's easier to pull a really large wagon when you're both holding on to the handle, bodies close together, talking, laughing, wondering about the world, and not paying attention to how heavy it is.

It's a lesson we would all do well to learn.

Happy birthday, I.  May they all be as perfect as this moment.


Strawberry Muffins
These healthy muffins are perfect for a lunchbox, a snack container, or children's tea.  Or maybe for you, to share with a friend.

1 c. regular flour
1 c. whole wheat flour
6 T. unrefined sugar or 1/4 c. agave nectar
1/2 t. salt
3 T. baking powder
1 egg or 1 flax egg (1 T. flaxseed + 3 T. water, mixed and let stand)
1 c. milk of your choice (or 3/4 c. + 2 T. milk of your choice if using agave)
3 T. grapeseed oil (melted coconut or canola will also work)
1 c. frozen strawberries, chopped into blueberry-sized chunks

Mix together dry ingredients in a large bowl.  Separately mix together wet ingredients.  Make a well in the dry ingredients and add the wet ingredients.  Stir with a wooden spoon until just moistened ... do NOT overmix!  Add the strawberries and stir gently until just combined.

Pour into 12 muffin cups and bake 12 minutes at 400 (or 13-14 minutes at 375 if using agave).

Giving, and Giving Back: Baba Ganouj

Sometimes I think I should have been born a Libra.  I have a tendency to mentally weigh gifts--both tangible and intangible--I've been given, and worry that perhaps I'm not giving back enough to measure up to what I've gotten.  (There is a less attractive flip side to this, that sometimes I stew over giving a great deal to someone who never seems to give back to me ... which makes me feel like a much more mercenary and much less generous person than I hope I am, even if all I hope for, most times, is appreciation.)

We have friends who have, over the past few years, generously given us enough hand-me-downs for the kids that we haven't really had to buy very much clothing.  This is a twofold blessing, of course, because not only have we saved the money we would have spent on clothes, but we've saved the sanity I would have spent on clothes shopping, which you now know is one of those activities that inspires dread in my heart.

But every time I put a load of new hand-me-downs into the laundry, and sort them into bins and closets, realizing that I will never be able to give clothes back to these people, because their children are older and larger than mine, I worry that maybe it looks like I'm taking the gift for granted. I try to give well-chosen birthday gifts, or find other ways to "compensate," but I never feel like it's enough.  The hand-me-downs often get another life beyond our house, but that doesn't seem like it's giving "back" either ... it's more along the lines of paying it forward.

My CSA is another good example of the generous giver.  Between winning our share this year, and enjoying the treats that are always waiting for me when I go to pick up our share, and feeling strangely cared for by the people who grow my food, I find myself fretting about the unequal benefit.  I'd thought about offering up social media services for them at some point, but it turns out that they're actually really good at it, and I could probably learn some lessons from them.  Event planning?  They have that covered, too.  Volunteering on the farm?  Would be ideal, but not with a squirmy one year old on my back.

It could be that I'm just not good at receiving gifts.  In fact, I'm sure that part of it is certainly that I'm just not good at receiving gifts.

I've been thinking about a similar equation in blogging, lately, too.  The giving and the taking.  The producing and consuming.  There are lots of variations on this, of course.  For example: there are some people who read, but never comment (please understand, my intention is not to inspire guilt here, but really just to pose a question).  Are we obligated to "give back" as consumers of blogs, either in the form of comments or in the form of our own blog posts, contributing to the conversation?  It's funny; I would never think to ask this question in relation to a reader and a writer offline, but somehow, online, because it's possible to give back, simply consuming without connecting feels irresponsible to me, somehow.  There are bloggers who take without giving, too, of course ... who take comments without responding to comments, or who collect commenters but never seek out new blogs.  Are bloggers who don't "give back" doing the blogging world a disservice?  Or is their writing contribution enough?

Are you good at receiving gifts?  Or do you have a mental scale, too, for better or worse?  And do you think that scale applies, in any way, to blogging?

This week my farm made Baba Ganouj for us.  In case you've never had it: it's a popular Middle-Eastern mezza dip made from eggplant and tahini., with a smooth, creamy texture and a slightly smoky taste. It's traditionally served with pita bread (toasted or fresh), but you could also serve it as a dip with cut fresh vegetables, potato chips, or tortilla chips.

Baba Ganouj

1 large eggplant
2 cloves garlic
1/4 c.  lemon juice (depending on taste)
1/4 c. tahini
1 teaspoon salt
3 teaspoons olive oil

Garnish
2 teaspoons olive oil
2 Tablespoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Preheat oven to 400.  Prick the eggplant all over with a fork and lie it in a baking tray lined with foil.  Bake, turning every 15 minutes.  One pound of eggplants will take about an hour.  They should flatten and turn very soft.  Allow to cool for 20 minutes. Cut open eggplant and scoop out the flesh into colander and allow to drain for 10 minutes. Removing the excess liquid helps to eliminate a bitter flavor.

Place eggplant flesh in a medium bowl. Add remaining ingredients and mash together. You can also use a food processor instead of by hand. Pulse for about 2 minutes.

Place in serving bowl and top with lemon juice and olive oil. Add other garnishes according to taste.  Or, if you're like me and you're in a hurry, skip that step entirely.

Serve with warm or toasted pita or flatbread. Enjoy!

Critical Thinking, Public Education, and Granola Bars

In which I get all political on you.  Apologies in advance to my regular readers who are patiently waiting for mindfulness and cupcakes.  Also, you owe it to yourself to go read Garage Author's post on this subject.  Because she writes like a champion boxer.  KO.

My son is going to public school at the end of August, so I find myself paying even more attention than usual to discussions of education policy (which is saying something, considering that I'm the daughter of two teachers, and spent my entire career in higher education).  Back at the end of July, the Texas GOP released its Education platform.  Usually this doesn't cause much of a stir, but they made this objectionable little comment that got everyone up in arms, and provided some useful fodder for Steven Colbert:

Knowledge-Based Education – We oppose the teaching of Higher Order Thinking Skills (HOTS) (values clarification), critical thinking skills and similar programs that are simply a relabeling of Outcome-Based Education (OBE) (mastery learning) which focus on behavior modification and have the purpose of challenging the student’s fixed beliefs and undermining parental authority.

Now, I do sort of understand the resistance to Outcome-Based Education.  OBE generally promotes curricula and assessment based on constructivism, which holds that people create meaning of the world through a series of individual constructs, or filters we choose in order to make sense of our reality.  While I consider myself more of a constructivist than not, and in principle this sounds like an excellent idea (and is the reason that we're beginning to see things like portfolio assessment of student work in addition to grades), in practice, it becomes a political morass.  How do you decide what the outcomes should be without getting all wishy-washy?  Where I used to work, that discussion resulted in a complicated core curriculum during the university's last revision of undergraduate education, which made no one happy.  I can't even imagine the discussion on a state level, especially when the state is the size of Texas.

But really? Challenging a student's "fixed beliefs" is a bad thing?  Should a child's lifelong beliefs be completely formed by elementary school?

A party spokesman later said ""[The chairman of the Education Subcommittee] indicated that it was an oversight of the committee, that the plank should not have included 'critical thinking skills' after 'values clarification, [...] And it was not the intent of the subcommittee to present a plank that would have indicated that the RPT in any way opposed the development of critical thinking skills."

Still, the fact that those words got written in the first place (which means they must have been spoken by someone, and read by many others before that document was released) is disturbing to me.  Isn't that what public education is about?  About encountering difference, about questioning your beliefs, about questioning what you've simply been told, about promoting democracy?  I'm reminded of the article that jjiraffe linked to the other day, about Mike McQueary, an assistant coach at Penn State who reported child sex abuse but is not being blamed for not doing enough.  At the end, the author writes, "[w]e need to find ways to teach Good Soldiers and Team Players to question authority while still respecting it. In fact, we need to go one step further and teach them that questioning authority is the best way to show respect for it. And any authority that challenges that notion isn’t worthy of respect."  As I wrote to jjiraffe, I'm not sure how we do that, exactly, but that kind of questioning is necessary if we're going to raise the next generation of heroes and whistleblowers, instead of people who stand by and watch terrible things happen.

The platform also opposes, among other things, early childhood education, sex education, and multicultural education, but supports “school subjects with emphasis on the Judeo-Christian principles upon which America was founded.”

Um ... excuse me? Wasn't it values clarification that motivated the colonists to travel here and stick it out against some pretty incredible odds in the first place?  And with growing populations of non-Judeo-Christian people who are influencing the future of the country, wouldn't it be important to discuss non-Judeo-Christian ideas?

You can read the entire policy here, if you're interested.  But I'm sorry, Texas GOP--as my son starts first grade this year, there is one thing I'm hoping he'll continue to learn: to think for himself.  And if he figures out that I've been wrong all along about something important, and can show me why in a way that is civil and respectful, more power to him.

Here's a great addition to a lunchbox for back to school, or to slip into your own bag, so that during that mid-afternoon dip in energy you can recharge your own power of critical thinking.  They're sort of like Luna bars, only more customizable and less expensive.  The basic formula from Brown Eyed Baker goes like this:

1. Rolled Grains (2 1/2 c.): Oats, Rye flakes, Barley flakes, etc.
2. Nuts, Seeds & Spices (1 c.) : Almonds, Walnuts, Pecans, Pistachios, Sunflower Seeds, Pumpkin Seeds, Cinnamon, Ginger, etc.
3. Sticky Sweetener (1/2 c., can use a bit more if you prefer): Honey, Agave Nectar, Molasses, Maple Syrup
4. Dried Fruits (1 c.): Raisins, Apricots, Dates, Figs, Prunes, Cranberries, Pineapple, etc.
5. Binder (1 c.): Pureed Dried Fruit, Apple Butter, Peanut Butter, Almond Butter, Unsweetened applesauce, etc.

Here's my variation on the theme.

What did you think of the document?  And how do you like your granola bars: chewy or crispy?

Luna Bar Style Tropical Granola Bars 

1 c. apple butter
1/2 c. raw local honey
1 t. ground cinnamon
3/4 t. vanilla
2 1/2 cups rolled oats
3/4 c. chopped almonds
2 T. raw pumpkin seeds
2 T. sunflower seeds (roasted, unsalted)
1 c. chopped dried apricot
2 to 3 T. unsweetened shredded coconut

Preheat oven to 325F. Line an 8×8-inch baking pan with parchment paper. In a large bowl, whisk together the honey, apple butter, cinnamon and vanilla extract. Stir in the oats, making sure that everything is mixed in well and that the oats are all moistened. Mix in the almonds, seeds, and dried fruit. Turn the mixture out onto the parchment and press into the pan, distributing it evenly and packing it tightly. Bake for 25 minutes. Remove from the oven and cool in the freezer until the bars are firm, at least 1 hour. Remove from the pan and cut into bars. Store in an airtight container for up to 1 week.  You can even cut them into fun shapes with cookie cutters!

Here's My Card, with a Side of Croquetas

I met Adam when I was a senior in college.  I remember him as a large, round-faced, clean-shaven, slightly older-than-college-age guy with medium-length wavy black hair, big black-rimmed glasses, Hawaiian print shirts, and beads: the kind of long-flat, ziti-shaped beads that you used to find on jump ropes to make them heavy.  Let's just say that he stood out in a crowd.  Adam was also an English major.  We had a few shared classes, and we would sometimes walk from one to another together.  Or, I should say, he walked me.  I never would have initiated the relationship, because he wasn't my type, but he was an extrovert, and he saw something in me that made him decide he was going to befriend me.

I seemed to collect guys like that, so I didn't think much of it.  Until the poetry reading.

I'd submitted my work to a contest at my university, and won honorable mention.  As part of the award, I was invited to share my work at a real poetry reading, with a real academic audience.  The idea was enough to make me swoon, but also quake in my boots.  My poetry had always been intensely private, and I'd entered the contest on a lark, just to see what might happen.

On the night of the reading, I showed up in my best black pants and dark shirt, trying to look literary.  Stepping to the podium, I saw him standing in the back, wearing his brightly colored jump rope beads.  He flashed me a goofy smile, and I couldn't help but smile back, as I took a deep breath and started to read.  After it was over, he came up to me with a sweet bouquet of wilting pink grocery store roses, and a small envelope.  "Open it," he urged me.  Inside were a few printed plain black business cards: the kind of cards you used to be able to make yourself at a kiosk at Kinkos or Staples.  One of the cards, featuring a small truck graphic, had my name in bold letters, and under it,  "Poet.  I Truck Words."  One of the others pictured a jewel, and under it: "J.  Writer.  A Real Gem."

I swallowed hard, at loss for words.  Something about those business cards made me feel more authentic.  Like maybe I really was a writer.  He smiled.  "Don't forget who you are," he told me.

Years later, sadly, I no longer know where those business cards are, and I lost track of Adam as soon as we were no longer taking classes together.  But I was looking at business card sites the other day because I've been thinking about ordering cards for BlogHer, feeling like I couldn't get them to look quite right, like I should have a designer, like they were another expense, and I couldn't help but remember him.  I really should bite the bullet, I thought.

"JHL.  Writer.  Blogger.  Philosopher.  I Truck Words."

When I'm not browning croquetas, of course.

Do you have a business card?   If you had to make one for yourself, what would it say?  Has someone's external validation of your work ever changed how you perceive it yourself?

Croquetas
Because they're fried, these are not exactly health food.  Some people bake them.  I've compromised by reducing the amount of oil used for frying, and lightening the recipe.  They're pretty ubiquitous in the tapas bars of Spain.


1 lb. boneless, skinless chicken breasts (you could also use 3/4 lb. chicken and 1/4 lb. Serrano ham ... or even your favorite diced vegetable ... broccoli might be nice here)
1 small yellow onion, minced
1/3 c. all purpose flour
2 1/2 c. milk of your choice
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
pinch of cinnamon
1 egg, separated
1 additional egg white
fine dried bread crumbs (no seasoning)
olive oil for frying

Cook the chicken or vegetables as you like, by either frying, poaching, steaming, or roasting.  Chop finely.

Add about 1/4 c. olive oil to a frying pan and saute the onions over medium heat until golden, about 12 minutes.  Add the flour and stir until the mixture thickens, about 3-4 minutes.  Slowly add the milk, stirring constantly, then cook, stirring, until thick and creamy, about 5 minutes.  Add chicken (and ham, or vegetables, if using), and season with salt, pepper, and cinnamon.  Remove from heat and let cool slightly.  Lightly beat the egg yolk, then stir well into the mixture.  Let cool. This will be your filling.  (This step may take a while; I recommend refrigerating the mixture for at least an hour once it cools slightly.  You want it to be firm enough to scoop into balls.)

In a shallow bowl, beat the egg whites until frothy.  Place the bread crumbs in another shallow bowl.  Scoop up an egg-shaped ball of the filling.  Dip it into the egg white and then into the bread crumbs, coating evenly.  Place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.  Repeat until all of the filling is used.

In a deep frying pan, pour the oil to a depth of about 3/4 inch (The original recipe says to deep-fry in 3 inches of oil, so you can do that if you are so inclined) and heat until almost smoking (about 375F).  Working in batches, fry the croquetas until golden, about 4 minutes.  Transfer to paper towels to drain; keep warm.  Serve hot (the filling will get harder again as it cools, but will become creamy when warm).  If you need to reheat them, it's best to do so in a 300F oven for 5-10 minutes.

For Health, Healing, and Hope: Carrot-Ginger Muffins

Pregnancies seem to come in waves around me, and right now, I'm watching a tsunami approach. One of the staff members is due in March, another has a daughter who will give birth in February, one of the women in the working moms group I run is due at the end of January, another is due with twins some time in January, and one of the women in my little wing of the building at work announced that she, too, will join the ranks of motherhood in August.

To hear some women talk about it, getting pregnant and making it through the nine months to delivery is a snap. And for some women, it is. My first pregnancy was very uneventful (until the end, when my son teased us with a potential breech birth and I did all sorts of bizarre things to convince him to turn, not the least amusing of which was lying upside down on an inclined ironing board, playing music and shining lights at the far end of my large belly). I could almost have been convinced that every pregnancy was like that. But even then, I knew better. I had a friend give birth to a stillborn child before we conceived our own, and I knew of another few couples who had lost a pregnancy early on. Now, three years after the birth of my son, I, too, have had my own experiences (unfortunately plural) with loss in pregnancy, and more recently, have become just plain frustrated with my uncooperative (and admittedly, aging) body. Watching the tidal wave fills me with simultaneous hope, and fear, and jealousy.

So I do what I always do when I don't know how else to cope. I bake. Tomorrow I will bring some of these to the newly pregnant young woman at work, who looks green in the morning and shuts her door to try to get some work done. I will tell her that ginger and lemon will help her to fight the queasiness, and reassure her that she'll feel like herself again soon. I will also bring some to our next door neighbors, whose (60 year old) daughter is in the hospital with septic meningitis. Because, as any parent knows, the delicate balance of hope and fear, which, I suspect, is part of what makes us human, does not end with birth.

Here's to life, and to the healing powers of things from the oven, made with love.

Carrot-Lemon-Ginger Muffins (adapted from What to Expect When You're Expecting)

1 cup whole-wheat flour
¼ cup ground flaxseed or wheat germ
¼ cup rolled oats
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp baking soda
¾ cup chopped pecans
¾ cup agave nectar or white grape juice concentrate
2 large eggs, lightly beaten or 1/2 cup soy yogurt
¼ cup light olive oil
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 tsp minced peeled fresh ginger
2 tsp minced lemon zest
1 cup grated carrot

1. Preheat the oven to 375F. Line a standard-size muffin tin with paper liners.
2. In large bowl, combine the whole-wheat flour, flaxseed, oats, ground ginger, and baking soda. Stir in nuts.
3. In medium bowl, combine juice concentrate, eggs, oil, vanilla, fresh ginger, and lemon zest. Whisk to blend. Add the juice mixture to the flour mixture, and stir gently just until the batter is smooth and well blended; do not overmix.
4. Gently fold in carrots. Spoon batter evenly into prepared muffin tin. Bake about 20 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.
5. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool 10 minutes. Remove muffins from tin; let cool completely. Muffins can be stored in an airtight container for 3 days or individually wrapped in plastic wrap (and then in an airtight container or freezer bag) and frozen for a month.

Cranberry Ginger Granola

There is something about blustery winter days that require a wood burning stove. My two favorite high school English teachers (who, quite conveniently, are married to one another) knew (and still know) this; we hunkered down next to theirs today for a pleasant visit filled with conversation and kitten antics, coveting one (kitten and stove) of our own. Ian behaved himself beautifully, even if he didn't completely self-entertain.

We talked for a long time about everything from mystery novels to good kielbasa (Michael has a fondness for smoked meats) to veterinarians, and they brought me up to date on the activities of my former schoolmates. As we were talking, it occurred to me that though they have no children of their own, they've collected so many of us over the years ... the misfits, the lonely ones, the ones that have been brainwashed by well-meaning parents. I spent many nights on a fold-out futon in their "mystery room," a room lined with built-in bookcases filled with tattered novels, and I remember waking up many mornings feeling so lucky to be there, warm bowl of oatmeal waiting for me in the kitchen along with a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea (with or without milk, as you please). Sometimes I went with my high school best friend, but as we grew apart, I found my way there alone. They called their house Bryn Myrddin--Merlin's Mountain--and it was a fitting name, somewhere you could hide away. And as adults, many of us still return, bearing only a paltry six pack of beer in gratitude for their unconditional love, their warm welcome, and their unwavering support.

Mare had to leave early today to see her own parents, who are aging less than gracefully, it seems, leaving Michael to entertain us and feed us the always-delicious always-simple lunch (usually, in the winter, involving homemade bread and soup). Watching her go, I wished I could take care of her, shielding her from her demons as she has shielded us all these years. When I got home, I baked a batch of granola, which I've been perfecting this winter break. It's loosely based on the recipe from this blog, by the Leftoverist herself, but I've modified it a bit. She admits that "all granola recipes are just a scaffolding for whatever you want to do or whatever you have in your pantry." It seemed like the right sort of thing to send full of health and energy-sustaining ingredients, and nutty, like we are. I hope it helps, or that at the very least, it reminds her how many of us love her for the generous gift of herself, so freely given, these many years.

Cranberry Ginger Granola

8 cups. thick-cut old fashioned oats
1 c. coarsely chopped walnuts
1 c. pumpkin seeds
1 c. coarsely chopped pecans
1 c. virgin coconut oil (any oil would be fine, but this is supposed to have healthful properties and isn't so refined)
2/3 c. agave nectar
pinch salt
1 1/2 c. dried cranberries
1/2 c. candied or crystallized ginger, rinsed (to get some of the sugar off) and finely chopped

Heat oven to 350 and line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Combine oats, nuts, and seeds in a large bowl.

Mix oil, agave nectar, and salt well. Pour over oats, mixing thoroughly. Spread out onto baking sheets and bake for 20-30 minutes until brown, checking often, stirring occasionally, and rotating baking sheets halfway through.

While oats are cooling, add cranberries and ginger, stirring thoroughly. Transfer granola to an airtight canister(s).