Sunday, December 14, 2014

Chocolate Almond Sea Salt Dipped Oatmeal Shortbread

This is impending winter, a solstice in the making. It becomes so dark so quickly these days, and watching the dying light recalls a memory; something about running and chasing, and the difference between them. Sometimes I sit facing the window, and watch the shadows seep blue into the walls, and I think, and think. Why am I here, and what am I doing? And as of late, Good God, it's almost 2015. I see my life like as a prism, and if I hold it up to the light at just the right angle, and squint my face up real funny, I can, sometimes, occasionally, see some twisted, wavering reflection of myself. And that's the difference. Yourself, and your purpose, and the things you do to get to where you're going.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

How To Make A Winter Grapevine Wreath

“When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. That's my middle-west - not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow.” 

F. Scott FitzgeraldThe Great Gatsby

There's something deeply gratifying about twisting winters' barren arms into something more lovely. Winter is its' own breed of season; untamed & wild. All teeth and backbone and earthly root. It's easy to become lost in the thicket of things thrown our way; the rush & realization that this is it, the 12th & final hour. 

Which is why I'm setting time aside. For myself. In a few weeks, I'll be sitting in Colorado with a stunning monochrome view (more on that in a later post). But until then, I'm finding ways to tame the feral winter before me. You know- baking, decorating, cleaning, writing, wrapping, wreath making. The making of these wreaths, with which I'm now obsessed (I've made five so far), has been largely therapeutic. They harbor equal part nature & hand, aligning us to the season & rendering level where it feels uncontrolled. I have them hanging around the house as a constant reminder to search for the stillness that is undeniably here, but so often hidden.

Friday, December 5, 2014

Rosemary, Honey, Walnut, and Dried Fig Granola

In a land far afield
there sits a tiny chalet
where eglantine grows
and good promise lay

the giving tree weeps 
of sweet honey, and figs
are wrapped in mahogany
of a twisted trees' twigs

the ocean sings lullaby
to the prints on the beach
hushing their yearns
for places not reached

and the blackbird sings
hallelujah to the sky
his heavy wings lifted
by time that drifts by

and the peddlers' desire
burns like a hot coin in his palm
unbeknownst to the storm
to follow the calm.