Commonplace

A Gift (to Myself)

Thank you for all of the birthday love. I'm overwhelmed.

It was a day like any other with a few special touches mixed in.

There was an unscheduled pediatrician visit and an ear infection. There was Saturday business to attend to: haircuts and visits from neighbors. I baked a cake (what's a birthday without cake) and we ordered in dinner and ate in our pajamas. There were no dishes to wash and no diapers to change (thank you Niall). The phone rang maybe fifteen times—old friends and relatives wishing me well.

And there were these. Forty of them.

And facebook posts and email messages too numerous to count.

I felt very loved.

And a I gave myself a gift. It's a work in progress but I'm feeling ready to share it.

From now on, please visit me here.

I'm excited about the next chapter in my journal-keeping adventure and the places it might go.

If you want to come along for the ride (and I hope you do), you'll need to update your subscription or bookmark.

Thanks for visiting.

Bring It On

Today is my fortieth birthday.

Lately I've been getting lots of "forty isn't so bad" and "you wouldn't want to be thirty again, right?" Truth is though, I wouldn't want to be thirty again and I wouldn't go back to twenty for all the tea in China. 

I spent too many years to count feeling unhappy with what I saw when I looked in the mirror. My imperfections glared out me in a blaze until I shielded my eyes and looked away. Every day.

The rampant malcontent among young girls in American culture is not news. I am only further proof of it's existence. 

Something changed for me though, somewhere in the years following my divorce — long after my first born was in school.

I started to appreciate the lines in my face for the stories they told. I looked upon my body with wonder and awe for how it nurtured my children. I began to admire my unruly hair for it's distinctly identifiable silhouette. And I stopped looking away.

I don't wear much makeup or color my hair. I hardly remember to put on earrings and I live in comfortable jeans and sweaters.

And I still feel beautiful.

Not every day. But most days. I believe it comes from inside and it is a reconciliation of sorts. A true understanding that beauty is individual. (It helps not to read magazines or watch too much television as well.)

I don't envy the mother of girls the monumental task of imprinting this understanding on their babies. My mother told me I was beautiful every day and yet I didn't believe her until I was well into adulthood. No one ever made me feel less than, but I still wanted to be more. Why was that, I wonder.

I'm finished with it now though and I'm welcoming my next decade with open arms.

Thanks for visiting.

My Journey

I haven't written all week. I'm having trouble focusing the multitude of ideas that keep appearing in my mind's eye into anything sensible.

I drift off while cooking dinner into an essay about aging.

I slip away while changing a diaper—composing sentences about inspiration.

It's not the curse it was in school—this lack of focus. There is a blessing to be found in it. To have so many different places to go.

Harnessing the ideas into accomplishment is a challenge I haven't conquered, however.

For years I accepted it as fait accompli. You can't teach an old dog and so forth. But that doesn't sit comfortably in the pit of my stomach. How can I tell my son—who struggles with strikingly similar issues—that there are strategies, there is help, there is support—if I don't believe the same for myself?

Perhaps it's the milestone in my life that will occur tomorrow (when I turn forty) that has me looking at what is left. Not what has come before.

So I will write the essay on aging and compose the paragraph on inspiration — and so many more. Eventually.

I will put one foot in front of the other as it were. And forge ahead on the journey to my best self.

Colors of My Day

Yellow.

This vase was a wedding gift and it lives on our mantle. Niall put it there, on the end next to the window, because he said he likes how it catches the light.

Me too.

And yesterday's color:

Blue.

If the shot was a bit wider, you'd see all the toys that usually live in that bucket spilled all over the floor.

Things that are exciting me today:

Counting down to Inauguration Day.

Niall is taking the day off and we are attending brunch at friends'. Quinn is too young to appreciate it but Jake is pretty excited. (Nothing like inflicting one's views on our children.) He seems to understand the significance and we're hoping to be present in a moment that is certain to become something we look back upon.

In the evening I'm planning to attend the opening of The Obama Show at Eyebuzz in Tarrytown. I don't know whether I'm more excited to see these in person, or to meet Tara who is one of my favorite bloggers.

Watching Jake perform.

Any mother knows what it feels like to watch their child be happy. It's an indescribable feeling that affirms your entire being.

My son has struggled, more than any ten and a half year old should, to be happy. He continues to struggle still. But when he is playing the keyboard or singing on stage, he is as happy as I've ever seen him. I love to witness this and tonight and tomorrow I will.

If you missed any of my video posts of him, you can watch them here if you're so inclined (he's the little one).

Making new friends.

Kathleen at Mamas Always Write has an insightful and honest style that encourages me to write. I have been compelled by her 'prompts' since my first visit. It only solidified my interest in her when I found out that she lives in the city of my heart.

Stephanie at The Letter's Edge writes with a straightforward and quirky voice that is just a little self deprecating and I want to have a cup of coffee with her. She has has recently posed a question that's got me thinking: what would you do if you knew you couldn't fail? I'll be guest-posting on her blog and addressing that question later in the month.

Meeting both of these women and reading their accounts of motherhood, career decisions, marriage and creativity, further confirms my suspicions that I am not alone.

What is exciting you today?

Thanks for visiting.

Morning Light

I get up early.

Thoughts of what's coming always draw me out of bed. As I imagine them to be at your house, mornings are a whirlwind around here. Get 'em up. Get 'em fed. Make the lunches. Don't forget the homework, contact lenses, bus notes, gloves. You know the drill. 

So I get up before everyone else and spend a few minutes.

The calm before the proverbial storm. 

Of course there's coffee and checking in on my favorite blogs. Until recently there were the papers as well. (It hasn't been the same for me since news-gathering became a digital habit.) There was dog walking... but no more. Now it's just me and the cat. We warm the house for the others. We gather our strength for the rush. (Mostly I gather my strength and she sits on the back of a chair and watches the sun rise.)

At 6:15 a.m. I usually feel as if I can accomplish anything. The day lays in front of me with endless moments I plan to fill with finishing. I will finish cleaning the bathrooms. I will finish the dishes, the laundry, the bills. I will clean my closet and file that stack of papers. I will finish everything while devoting my full attention to playing with my toddler.

At 6:37 a.m. it seems possible to finish everything.

But I never do.

Tonight, in a moment of feeling unsuccessful, I will remind myself of the things that did get finished.

When Jake got off the school bus, there were warm cookies waiting for him—never mind if the dishes were still in the sink. When Quinn took his nap, his diaper was clean, his belly was full and he was wrapped up in a quilt that I stitched for him—no matter if his jammies were still in a pile on the floor. When he bumped his head while we played, I scooped him up and kissed it until he laughed—it's okay if the toys still sit where we left them. When Jake wanted to play a new piece for me on his keyboard, I sat and listened to it over and over—no one minded eating dinner a little late. And when everyone was sleeping and the quiet finally settled back around me, the house was a mess and nothing was set for the next morning but I didn't mind.

At 6:04 a.m. tomorrow, it'll all seem possible again, and maybe tomorrow it will be.

Thanks for visiting.

A List in Celebration

While considering for a moment what I might resolve for the coming year it occurred to me that such resolutions often seem to serve only one purpose: to remind me of my failures over the past twelve months. So tonight, on this last night of the year, I'm going to look back. I have a dangerous habit to go quickly to my shortcomings and examine only my inadequacies. This evening I'm going to celebrate my successes.

A gift of confirmation to myself. Join in and confirm your successes — if you're so inclined.

This year I:

Wrote. I'm listening to my voice and learning how to write it down.

Breastfed my baby joyfully.

Joined in.

Was calmer in my parenting. (Please don't misunderstand this to mean that I was calm. But I was calmer.)

Made new friends.

Maintained an effective relationship with Jake's father. (I prefer not to refer to him as my ex-husband although that is in fact what he is to me.) I now even consider him a friend.

Lost all of the weight I gained while pregnant with Quinn.

Finished old projects.

Learned new things.

Began a journey back to gainful employment.

Trusted my instincts more than ever before.

And even though it is much easier to compose those other lists (the ones with all the broken resolutions from last year), I'd say all in all, I accomplished quite a lot this year.

The Kindness of Strangers

To the person who found my purse in the A&P parking lot on Saturday night: thank you. Really, what more can I say. You could have taken the thirty-seven dollars and change and I would still be grateful. But you didn't. And yesterday morning while getting ready to attend the bank closing on the refinance of my home, when I realized that I had indeed not seen my purse or it's contents (including my driver's license, of course) in nearly forty-eight hours I began a complete and total melt-down. When my husband calmly suggested that I call the supermarket and ask if they had my purse, I balked. No way. Right? But there it was. And did I mention that everything was intact. Not a Luden's Honey-Lemon missing. Not a dollar spent. I picked it up on my way to the closing, continued on to the Chrysler Building in New York City, rode the art-deco elevator twenty-four stories, presented my driver's license when asked to do so, and successfully completed the refinance of my home. So, to that person who stopped in the cold dark parking lot on Saturday night and took the time to bring the bag of a stranger inside to the customer service desk, I say: thank you. Thank you.

Ode to a Moment

Yesterday at 7:04 AM Eastern Standard Time (here in the Northern Hemisphere) the Winter Solstice occurred.

While today's culture doesn't face the same challenges that once presented themselves during the winter months, daily life here in the Northeast does take on a decidedly different tone in the winter. Modern conveniences keep us warm, light our homes and preserve our food. We understand that longer warmer days will be returning. But sill there are moments when the darkness seems perpetual. I feel a need to be indoors before it's dark. I absolutely get less done (which I admit isn't always a bad thing) and my mood is heavy. Perhaps it's a holdover in me from a time when darkness meant danger and the cold was a threat to existence.

Just to be clear: I don't hate winter. It's just harder for me. Have I loved the excitement of watching my toddler see his first snowstorm? Youbetcha. Do I get pleasure from skiing with my son? Absolutely. What about hot chocolate and slow cooked stews? Of course. But oh, how I long for those extended days and the liberation of bare feet, open windows and a lighter mood.

Since I like to include a photo as often as possible I'll point you to Alexis' blog: Knot Sew Crafty, where she posted photos of the view from her house yesterday. I live less than a mile up the street from Alexis and CMR so the view from here isn't so different. Could you go look at her photos and pretend that they belong with this post?

From this point forward (for the next six months — but we won't go there yet) the days begin to grow blessedly longer and the inevitable countdown to return of the sun begins. Hallelujah!

Fruited Pumpkin Bread

This recipe comes from Sunset Magazine and is a bit different from most other pumpkin breads I've made. It's a little spicy and includes mashed banana for extra fruity flavor.

Ingredients
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice or ground nutmet
3/4 cup (1/4 lb. plus 1/4 cup) butter or margarine, at rooom temperature
1 1/4 cups sugar
3 large eggs
3/4 cup each canned pumpkin and mashed ripe banana
1/2 to 1 cup chopped walnuts, pecans or dates

Instructions
In a large bowl, stir together flour, baking soda, salt and pumpkin pie spice. In another large bowl, beat butter and sugar with an electric mixer until creamy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition; then stir in pumpkin and banana. Add flour mixture and stir just until dry ingredients are evenly moistened. Stir in walnuts.

Spread batter evenly in two greased, floured loaf pans. Bake in a 350 degree oven until a wooden skewer inserted in centers of loaves comes out clean (about one hour).

Let bread cool in pans on racks for about five minutes; then turn out onto racks to cool completely.

Thanks for playing along with me on Project Quick-Bread. Now the work begins. This weekend my plan is to make many many loaves of the recipes I've posted this month and the gift giving begins. My thought is that each gift will contain three mini loaves. I'm a little stumped about how to present them cleverly. Jessica suggested baking boxes, which I like, but need to locate and don't want to spend too much money on. If anyone has any thoughts, please share them — I'm open.

From the weird files:

This is a blanket with sleeves. It's called a Snuggie and Jake wants one for Hanukkah. No way am I purchasing one of these but since I've never seen one in person I'm having some trouble figuring out how to make it. Anyone?

We're in snow day mode here and this Mama can't wait. My plans involve taking Quinn for his first snow walk and serving hot cocoa to Jake while he sits at the kitchen table in his long johns and wet clothes dry on the heater — pink cheeks all around. I'm heading into the garage now to look for the sled. If I'm not back in a few hours, send in the troops!

Oh, one more thing: happy birthday Niall. I love you.

And Now, Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

So last night my husband (not so) gently said "Honey, this carrot raisin bread recipe posted on your blog is getting old. Don't you need to post something new?" Truth is: I'm not much for the holiday season and I often try and glide through it without actually acknowledging it's occurrence. I was kind of afraid to admit that here to you my festive, holiday-loving friends but couldn't think of a way to post at this time of year without acknowledging it. After years of considering why I feel this way, my conclusion is that it comes from growing up in a household where Christmas wasn't celebrated (if you've been reading for a while, you know I'm Jewish). On some level I always felt left out and a teeny tiny bit resentful. Over time I've reconciled it and found ways to participate in the spirit of the season, but my general distaste for the commercialism of the holiday has remained. We do what we can to "put the Christ back in Christmas" as it were, but that's all the more difficult when you don't actually celebrate Christmas.

So, that's why I dropped off the face of blog-land. And thanks to those of you who checked in on me. I'm probably going to hold my breath until January at which point I plan to come up for air and be really really cheerful. In the meantime, let's rejoin our quick bread project already in progress.

Today's recipe comes to us courtesy of Andrea from The Little Collection. This is her Orange Nut Bread recipe. Thanks Andrea.

Oven: 350 degrees
Yield: one loaf

Ingredients:
2 1/2 cups unsifted flour
1 1/4 cups sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 eggs, beaten
1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
1/2 cup orange juice
2 tablespoons grated orange zest
2 tablespoons water
1 cup chopped nuts (Andrea's mom used walnuts, but she prefers pecans)

Instructions:
Grease and sugar a standard loaf pan.
In a large bowl, combine flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Set aside.
In a separate bowl, combine eggs, butter, orange juice, zest and water.
Add egg mixture all at once to flour mixture. Stir to combine. Add nuts and incorporate.

Bake until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean (about one hour). Remove from pan and cool on wire rack.