This morning I feel called to take this blog beyond our immediate world of cozy home and daily concerns, real and valid, but manageable.
A story, one of too many, caught my eye this weekend. A mother of five told by soldiers to flee her home now, as an invading army was advancing to evacuate the area of its citizens. In her panic, she raced through the streets, with her five children, in the wrong direction and more soldiers opened fire at them. She was wounded and her two year old baby daughter killed. A daughter who, as a mother, I could feel, she loved more than life itself. A tiny, sweet little person she bathed and cuddled and giggled with. A little girl she held close when the bombs were echoing at night, reassuring her that no harm would come to her while mama was around to protect her.
It doesn't matter much what country this was in or which side it was that shot at this family. What matters is that it is true and that it is happening every single day all over the world. What matters is that we become aware of the impact of warfare and strive to make the world a more peaceful and loving place. We can come together to help those victims trying to piece their lives back together again.
Peace to you, my sisters far away, my sympathy for your loss and pain. I will do my best today to create peace, beginning with myself, my own home and my own children. I invite my readers to take up the challenge to do the same.
How about a read-along? We will be beginning Greg Mortenson's "Three Cups of Tea" next week. This is the story of how one man dreamed, schemed, saved and worked his tail off to build schools for girls where none existed, deep in the mountains in Pakistan. Join me, if you'd like, in a read-along, with your children or alone. It is a book to open minds to the good one person can do in the world. And I just read that Greg has been nominated for the Nobel Prize for Peace. A fitting example for those wishing to make the world a better place.
P.S. I have just been told that there are two versions of this book; one for the younger crowd, called "Three Cups of Tea, Changing the World One Child at a Time," and the original version. I plan on reading the original version to mine starting a week from today, but if you have primarily young children, or want a shorter read, the other one might be a nice option. Widely available at libraries all over the U.S.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Late Readers
So, the question begs, if they are not reading in "school" what are they doing? Nothing important, to an adult. The children's days are filled with things like playing outside in all kinds of weather (NOTHING can discourage them from going outside.) They paint whenever they want, it has become an activity that can happen every day, rather than the big production I used to believe it had to be. They become knights and dogs and Eskimos. They form skating clubs, spy clubs or build forts in the basement. They jump rope, make candles, knit, memorize poems, chop potatoes, bake bread, play the recorder. I read to them, a lot. Sometimes we read for hours, some days it may only be an hour, but there is always a story to encourage their imagination, broaden their horizons and entertain them enough that they develop their own, unforced, love of reading.
We do have a rhythm (or schedule, if you prefer) to our day. They know what to expect in the morning, they know lunch will be served around noon, followed by rest and play time in the afternoon, and dinner in the evening. This makes it easier on everyone, and there is much flexibility within the rhythm.
This week we are on "spring vacation," and it is a lovely week to have chosen! It was in the 70's here yesterday, so we spent most of the day outside. I prepared my square-foot garden beds and planted peas. The little ones alternately came to help dig and left to play with the older ones in the far end of the yard, out of ear-shot of mama. Rhythm extends to yearly rituals that follow the seasons; spring is equated with planting and observing the new growth beginning, mud and all its joys, (reading sort of pales when side by side with mud) and the mud giving way to grass again (can't come soon enough!)
Happy Spring to you and yours!
We do have a rhythm (or schedule, if you prefer) to our day. They know what to expect in the morning, they know lunch will be served around noon, followed by rest and play time in the afternoon, and dinner in the evening. This makes it easier on everyone, and there is much flexibility within the rhythm.
This week we are on "spring vacation," and it is a lovely week to have chosen! It was in the 70's here yesterday, so we spent most of the day outside. I prepared my square-foot garden beds and planted peas. The little ones alternately came to help dig and left to play with the older ones in the far end of the yard, out of ear-shot of mama. Rhythm extends to yearly rituals that follow the seasons; spring is equated with planting and observing the new growth beginning, mud and all its joys, (reading sort of pales when side by side with mud) and the mud giving way to grass again (can't come soon enough!)
Happy Spring to you and yours!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Gardening, Sailing and Sugar
Garden dreaming, anyone? It's March, and in our house we have been dreaming of this year's garden since January. The unfair part is that last week, with temperatures in the 50s and 60s, we still were unable to plant anything as the ground was still frozen hard. Life in the Midwest does teach patience and perseverance. (I try to remember this when they are all complaining about missing the ocean and I am trying not to agree with them.) My daughter has been cultivating seedlings in her sunny bedroom since Christmas, when they each were given a baby Christmas tree in a pot. She began tomatoes, herbs and sunflowers shortly after that. They are doing very well, almost as nicely as mine which I started three days ago and are still in the dirt stage.
We did not make the cut for the island reef job. After a little disappointment, we were able to move on to our next project(s); camping and taking sailing lessons this summer and making the best square foot garden ever. We are wondering whether to add to our raised bed dirt that has sunk over the last three years, or dig up the weed cloth underneath and allow the roots to go deeper. Any advice from those who have tried the raised bed/weedcloth below option? It has been lovely having no weeds for the past few years, but nothing is thriving like it did before. I wonder if there is enough depth for proper root structure. Then again, my tomato plants did almost nothing last year either, and they were in the ground.
To help while away the time until I can dig and plant, I am reading Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" a must-read I kept forgetting to read, but will now harp upon until everyone I know has read it. There are so many pages I could quote from it that I can hardly choose, but it is the book of the moment, meeting the needs of our food-impoverished society as things stand now in the U.S. Go find it at the library, buy it, borrow it, read it, your life will be richer, the world will be a better place.
Along with food-consciousness has come sugar awareness, back again from the drawer I had stuffed its ugly self into. It really was time to bring it back out. Girl Scout cookie week notwithstanding, (rather hypocritical of me, since we've eaten all of the thin mints), this stuff is bad for me. I had three excellent reminders of just how bad over the weekend. This is reminder number four, so if three times is a charm, four will be a promise not to forget. The stuff makes me itch, swells my joints and makes me a grumpier person. "Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom" was one of my reminders, another was a friend who admitted that she used to yell, but she has not done so for a year now. When I asked her what her secret was, she answered, to my amazement; "no more sugar." Since that came less than half an hour after my research on my own health condition revealed I should cut out all refined sugar (something I already know), it had the impact of an oracle. Gosh am I glad the thin mints are gone!
We did not make the cut for the island reef job. After a little disappointment, we were able to move on to our next project(s); camping and taking sailing lessons this summer and making the best square foot garden ever. We are wondering whether to add to our raised bed dirt that has sunk over the last three years, or dig up the weed cloth underneath and allow the roots to go deeper. Any advice from those who have tried the raised bed/weedcloth below option? It has been lovely having no weeds for the past few years, but nothing is thriving like it did before. I wonder if there is enough depth for proper root structure. Then again, my tomato plants did almost nothing last year either, and they were in the ground.
To help while away the time until I can dig and plant, I am reading Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" a must-read I kept forgetting to read, but will now harp upon until everyone I know has read it. There are so many pages I could quote from it that I can hardly choose, but it is the book of the moment, meeting the needs of our food-impoverished society as things stand now in the U.S. Go find it at the library, buy it, borrow it, read it, your life will be richer, the world will be a better place.
Along with food-consciousness has come sugar awareness, back again from the drawer I had stuffed its ugly self into. It really was time to bring it back out. Girl Scout cookie week notwithstanding, (rather hypocritical of me, since we've eaten all of the thin mints), this stuff is bad for me. I had three excellent reminders of just how bad over the weekend. This is reminder number four, so if three times is a charm, four will be a promise not to forget. The stuff makes me itch, swells my joints and makes me a grumpier person. "Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom" was one of my reminders, another was a friend who admitted that she used to yell, but she has not done so for a year now. When I asked her what her secret was, she answered, to my amazement; "no more sugar." Since that came less than half an hour after my research on my own health condition revealed I should cut out all refined sugar (something I already know), it had the impact of an oracle. Gosh am I glad the thin mints are gone!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Reading and Children
So, did this all just come about as magically as my last post would lead to believe? Yes and no. My first child was taught to read in kindergarten, true, but she was ready and wanted to learn because she had been read to her whole life and reading was something fun she wanted to be able to do herself. She was also an "older" kindergartner, turning six a couple of months into the school year. She had been in school four days a week since the age of three, and was very much formed by school type discipline and "ready" to learn what was offered.
My second had just turned five when he would have started kindergarten, and he was (and still is) a boy. It was entirely different. It was our first year homeschooling and I was so afraid he would be missing an important part of his existence by not going to kindergarten. I worried that I would fail to teach him something elemental and extraordinary that school would have provided, and he would "be behind" when this whole experiment failed. He was a little boy, and he loved being read to. He would sit for hours at a time listening to me read and playing Legos. He had, however, no interest in learning to read on his own. He was so busy with his world, and content to be read to, and...had I known, completely unready, developmentally, to learn to read or do math, or any of the "school" activities I had in mind for him. We struggled, we cried and we shouted, but, to his credit, he did not once give in and read one of those silly Bob Books that bored him to tears.
When he was good and ready, he began to read to me, books of his choice, at night before going to bed. (He had never liked going to bed either.) He and I read the whole Henry and Mudge collection over one summer, around the time he turned six, way past his bedtime, in his room, in the quiet.
He taught me to wait, he showed me the patience I did not know I possessed. Then I read Steiner, founder of the Waldorf school and his belief, that children should not be made to read until after the age of seven, older for boys. It made sense for me because the rest of this way of life was already our way of doing things. (A life connected to nature, a rhythm to daily, weekly and yearly life that includes baking, painting, music, festivals and reading of fairy tales.) I would not necessarily slow down a younger child who is reading and writing and counting, but there is a great necessity to look at where each child is and meet his needs right there. This is what is comes down to; not imposing our time frame for learning on our children. It is much more important to look at a child as a person with needs as individual as yours are from your next door neighbor's. Imagine that you had to watch the same tv shows and go to the same church and eat the same thing for dinner as they did, just because you were the same age or lived on the same street.
Until very recently (the past week or two perhaps), my seven-year old daughter would complain to every single person who would listen; "I don't know how to read." Then she would proceed to read something to that person, if they were willing to sit still long enough. What bothers her is not not knowing how to read, but not being as proficient as her siblings just yet. In a house full of readers, it really bothers her not to be counted among them. She is so full of the desire to learn that I will never need to needle and wheedle her into lessons. She just wants to be like everyone else.
And I am confident she never will be, but she will be reading just as well!
*Other proponents of "late academics": Raymond and Dorothy Moore, authors of "Better Late than Early," David Elkind, author of; "The Hurried Child," and "Miseducation, Preschoolers at Risk," who advocates the importance of play for children over early intellectualization.
My second had just turned five when he would have started kindergarten, and he was (and still is) a boy. It was entirely different. It was our first year homeschooling and I was so afraid he would be missing an important part of his existence by not going to kindergarten. I worried that I would fail to teach him something elemental and extraordinary that school would have provided, and he would "be behind" when this whole experiment failed. He was a little boy, and he loved being read to. He would sit for hours at a time listening to me read and playing Legos. He had, however, no interest in learning to read on his own. He was so busy with his world, and content to be read to, and...had I known, completely unready, developmentally, to learn to read or do math, or any of the "school" activities I had in mind for him. We struggled, we cried and we shouted, but, to his credit, he did not once give in and read one of those silly Bob Books that bored him to tears.
When he was good and ready, he began to read to me, books of his choice, at night before going to bed. (He had never liked going to bed either.) He and I read the whole Henry and Mudge collection over one summer, around the time he turned six, way past his bedtime, in his room, in the quiet.
He taught me to wait, he showed me the patience I did not know I possessed. Then I read Steiner, founder of the Waldorf school and his belief, that children should not be made to read until after the age of seven, older for boys. It made sense for me because the rest of this way of life was already our way of doing things. (A life connected to nature, a rhythm to daily, weekly and yearly life that includes baking, painting, music, festivals and reading of fairy tales.) I would not necessarily slow down a younger child who is reading and writing and counting, but there is a great necessity to look at where each child is and meet his needs right there. This is what is comes down to; not imposing our time frame for learning on our children. It is much more important to look at a child as a person with needs as individual as yours are from your next door neighbor's. Imagine that you had to watch the same tv shows and go to the same church and eat the same thing for dinner as they did, just because you were the same age or lived on the same street.
Until very recently (the past week or two perhaps), my seven-year old daughter would complain to every single person who would listen; "I don't know how to read." Then she would proceed to read something to that person, if they were willing to sit still long enough. What bothers her is not not knowing how to read, but not being as proficient as her siblings just yet. In a house full of readers, it really bothers her not to be counted among them. She is so full of the desire to learn that I will never need to needle and wheedle her into lessons. She just wants to be like everyone else.
And I am confident she never will be, but she will be reading just as well!
*Other proponents of "late academics": Raymond and Dorothy Moore, authors of "Better Late than Early," David Elkind, author of; "The Hurried Child," and "Miseducation, Preschoolers at Risk," who advocates the importance of play for children over early intellectualization.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Learning to read
"So, how do you teach them to read?"
"I don't."
More tomorrow!
"I don't."
But read they do, non-stop, voraciously, every genre, every media that we allow in the house, to the point of being reprimanded for reading, darn it, put that book away at the table! Turn out the light and quit reading! Just like Mommy.
That's one of the keys; children will imitate the behavior they see modeled. (I wonder where that leaves me with the way they fight, insult and clobber each other half of their waking lives as well?)
The other one, and I did not invent this, Jim Trelease observed it first, is READ TO CHILDREN. Establishing the pleasure connection to the activity of reading is the first and best thing an adult can do to form a life-long love of reading in a child. Once something is established as fun, who doesn't want to return to it again and again. So, read fun books, read informative books, read anything your child is interested in. Read to them what you loved as a child. Read "The Read Aloud Handbook," by Jim Trelease if you are not convinced.
Fill your home with reading material and use it. Leave things you would like kids to read in places you know they like to sit, as though really it was just your own reading material.
I love the Waldorf approach to reading; one letter at a time, with stories and drawings for each letter. It is a beautiful approach, an artistic one, guaranteed to capture a child's imagination. This is Waldorf first grade, around the age of 61/2 or 7. However, it all starts way before then, it begins in infancy, with reading to your baby, then your toddler.
It ideally begins before life begins, with the parents being readers. So, if you are expecting or thinking about starting a family or a grandparent wanting to make a difference in a child's life, become a reader yourself. It will be a gift to yourself, to society and to this child.
More tomorrow!
Friday, January 16, 2009
Sailing, sailing...
Yes, it is January in Iowa, and it is so cold that apparently the temperature is not registering on the weather bureau's thermometer; it says "N/A". (OK, so I went to check our outdoor thermometer, the floor boards squeaked from the cold with each step. My thermometer says -29, but I'll bet the wind chill is close to yesterday's -56.)
And we are dreaming of sailing. Sunshine, blue water and wind in our sails... We are planning next summer's trip to the Apostle Islands for a series of classes and some family cruising time. The kids are worked up about everything from bringing the cockatiel along to taking showers on a boat to swimming in Lake Superior.
Only one thing stands in our way of this being a perfect plan; the good Captain Thom Burns of the Northern Breezes Sailing School can only allow six people on board a lesson boat, and there are seven of us! I tried to convince him that mine were so small maybe we could count a couple of them as just one...no deal. He is working hard with us to come up with creative solutions, what a patient man! As of now, I am searching for another family to share the sail, or the school in this case. That way we could take out two boats and not leave baby at Grama's, as per one of the captain's suggestions. The accompanying family may have up to five family members, no more, but less is acceptable. What a quandary. All interested please apply here.
I must also announce that the sailboat messing up my clean suburban lawn look, parked in the front yard, is most definitely for sale. We have outgrown the Catalina 22 with its capacity for sleeping 4-5, and will be chartering larger boats in the future. Someday maybe even in warmer waters!
So, much food for thought today. If you are interested in putting an option on the boat, let me know. It will need to wait a week or two for delivery, as it is frozen solid to the grass in front of the house, but we can make you a great deal!
If you are thinking of sailing lessons this summer, let me know too. Doesn't that sound like a fun way to spend 3 or 4 days?
Bon vent!
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Happy New Year!
On the brink of a new year, here is what the end of the old finds us doing:
My oldest turned twelve, 12, ten and two more. She thinks she may want to be a vet most days, but the option of spy is also high on her list. In either case, she has decided that Spanish would be a good asset, so we are studying Spanish together. In the meantime, both she and her brother (now 10) have accepted a great lit challenge that I did not exactly issue, but suggested. They are both reading Dickens; Oliver Twist this month, and ds completed Plato's The Trial and Death of Socrates, Four Dialogues this week as well. If that all sounds very serious and academic, not to worry, they only spend about an hour or so a day with that particular activity!
Everyone is busy with their Christmas toys. Legos have kept some sequestered in their rooms building and rebuilding, especially no. 2 and 3. They have been building creative structures and very elaborate critters. The playroom houses block structures and a wooden castle. The basement has been turned into a gym and lots of time is spent down there with a new tumbling mat and music turned up till it hurts your ears. Outside, usually a favorite destination, has been a dubious one of late, with temperatures below freezing with a bitter wind or else in the 40s and raining. There were two days when it was too cold to stay out for more than 3 minutes, brave or not. Yesterday we came in completely soaked through all our winter layers with feet that required rubbing and rice warmers. At least we got in an hour's walk, but it was not the most fun walk in recent memory; if you weren't slipping on the ice build-up from weeks past, you were sloshing through running water, and getting rained on non-stop.
Our second daughter turned seven in November and insists on daily reading time with us both. She has scheduled her father for this during his vacation, and she and I have a standing 9am time to read. All her idea, she has decided she is too old not to be reading on her own, and is truly ready for the gift of reading from the Wise Sophia of her Waldorf book.* It has been very cute to see her work her way through the riddles, figure out the roman numeral system and learn her vowels. She and her sister can skip rope "like never so," and love to knit.
Little guy, but not the littlest, my four-year-old, is drawing real pictures and writing letters and has such a vocabulary he makes me laugh sometimes. He is all about knights and castles and being a hero against the bad guys. He does lovely cartwheels can sing any song he has heard once before.
Baby, now 19 months old, is a munchkin. He acts like a real little person, and can communicate almost everything he wants or needs quite clearly. And when that doesn't work, he gets your finger in a death grip and will lead you to where you need to be to see what he wants. He has a new word; en garde! And if there is a sword in his hand when he says it, you'd better take care. I have some worries about the situation, since he only says two words besides "Mama" and "Daddy," and they are "feu" or fire and "en garde." I trust this does not show a predisposition to a career in arson or violence, just natural boy curiosity from a third boy.
December has been a month of preparation of hearts and home for the holidays. We took break from a normal school schedule to decorate, bake and read Christmas stories together.
Other activities have continued, at home and out of it. The three oldest worked on a Christmas play for three months with their favorite director. The ten-year old has been playing hockey,(hockey?! Must have something to do with living in a land of snow and ice), and the girls have joined Girl Scouts. We have a darling four-year old who is a friend and has become part of our school day on Friday each week. She is apprenticing the French language with us. This has been great fun and encouraged all to remember to speak in French. She is a very quick learner and already knows a number of songs and expressions and how to count to twelve.
We have counted our blessings and look forward to a new year. Happy New Year to you all!
*A Journey Through Waldorf Homeschooling, grade one, Melisa Neilsen
My oldest turned twelve, 12, ten and two more. She thinks she may want to be a vet most days, but the option of spy is also high on her list. In either case, she has decided that Spanish would be a good asset, so we are studying Spanish together. In the meantime, both she and her brother (now 10) have accepted a great lit challenge that I did not exactly issue, but suggested. They are both reading Dickens; Oliver Twist this month, and ds completed Plato's The Trial and Death of Socrates, Four Dialogues this week as well. If that all sounds very serious and academic, not to worry, they only spend about an hour or so a day with that particular activity!
Everyone is busy with their Christmas toys. Legos have kept some sequestered in their rooms building and rebuilding, especially no. 2 and 3. They have been building creative structures and very elaborate critters. The playroom houses block structures and a wooden castle. The basement has been turned into a gym and lots of time is spent down there with a new tumbling mat and music turned up till it hurts your ears. Outside, usually a favorite destination, has been a dubious one of late, with temperatures below freezing with a bitter wind or else in the 40s and raining. There were two days when it was too cold to stay out for more than 3 minutes, brave or not. Yesterday we came in completely soaked through all our winter layers with feet that required rubbing and rice warmers. At least we got in an hour's walk, but it was not the most fun walk in recent memory; if you weren't slipping on the ice build-up from weeks past, you were sloshing through running water, and getting rained on non-stop.
Our second daughter turned seven in November and insists on daily reading time with us both. She has scheduled her father for this during his vacation, and she and I have a standing 9am time to read. All her idea, she has decided she is too old not to be reading on her own, and is truly ready for the gift of reading from the Wise Sophia of her Waldorf book.* It has been very cute to see her work her way through the riddles, figure out the roman numeral system and learn her vowels. She and her sister can skip rope "like never so," and love to knit.
Little guy, but not the littlest, my four-year-old, is drawing real pictures and writing letters and has such a vocabulary he makes me laugh sometimes. He is all about knights and castles and being a hero against the bad guys. He does lovely cartwheels can sing any song he has heard once before.
Baby, now 19 months old, is a munchkin. He acts like a real little person, and can communicate almost everything he wants or needs quite clearly. And when that doesn't work, he gets your finger in a death grip and will lead you to where you need to be to see what he wants. He has a new word; en garde! And if there is a sword in his hand when he says it, you'd better take care. I have some worries about the situation, since he only says two words besides "Mama" and "Daddy," and they are "feu" or fire and "en garde." I trust this does not show a predisposition to a career in arson or violence, just natural boy curiosity from a third boy.
December has been a month of preparation of hearts and home for the holidays. We took break from a normal school schedule to decorate, bake and read Christmas stories together.
Other activities have continued, at home and out of it. The three oldest worked on a Christmas play for three months with their favorite director. The ten-year old has been playing hockey,(hockey?! Must have something to do with living in a land of snow and ice), and the girls have joined Girl Scouts. We have a darling four-year old who is a friend and has become part of our school day on Friday each week. She is apprenticing the French language with us. This has been great fun and encouraged all to remember to speak in French. She is a very quick learner and already knows a number of songs and expressions and how to count to twelve.
We have counted our blessings and look forward to a new year. Happy New Year to you all!
*A Journey Through Waldorf Homeschooling, grade one, Melisa Neilsen
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Recipe secrets too dark to share
I am waiting. I just slid the glutinous mass of flour, egg, sugar and sour cream into the freezer; a shortened version of "refrigerating for 3 hours," and the timer is set, things will be set in motion in just 30 minutes or so. But it will be later, when friends will taste what may be the lightest, fluffiest, most delicious sugar cookies they have ever had in their lives, that I will be obliged to make the big decision; to share or not to share the recipe. I don't think that I can, I don't believe I should.
This is a recipe capable of doing permanent damage. It can rip apart families; damage mother-daughter relationships, make a fool out of you in front of cousins or in-laws, stretch to the limit the love between a husband and wife. I have made my peace with it, I make the darn things, year after year, but this is the very first year I have been able to surrender to what I must have conveniently forgotten; what those cookies are going to put me through.
I woke up completely at peace with my project this morning. After attempting spritz with a cookie press last night, most likely nothing else could faze me. The dough would not come out of the cookies press. When the dough did come out, it stuck to the press and had to be scraped off with a knife, rendering the pressed image obsolete. I did refrigerate it, for a few days actually, between the first time I tried with limited success and this time. So I made a fresh, unrefrigerated batch of dough, at 8:00 at night, which is bedtime. I had promised the kids cookies. My husband is staring at me incredulously, and not in a good way, wanting to know what I am doing, not making more dough? What about the other dough?
The first disk I tried maybe wasn't the easiest, I went back to the Christmas tree. Still no luck. I simultaneously googled "cookie press instructions and called my mother. Online I read encouraging comments along the lines of, "I HATE MY COOKIE PRESS!" and; "Mine went to the trash man, and I put a hammer to it to avoid some poor other fool suffering the same fate." Hmmm, what had I gotten myself into. My mother came to the rescue with her observations of, "Your generation doesn't seem to have the same level of patience as mine had. Yes, they are a pain, you have to work with a press to get the hang of it. Grandma made even more types than I did; she would make wreaths with the ribbon-shaped one; around for a wreath, then a bow on top." I remembered them, they were even dyed; green for the wreath and red for the bow. That settled that. I loved both my mother and my grandmother, but I did not require some remnant from the 50's housewife era to make my time here on earth meaningful. I declared it a most unfortunate experiment and made the rest of the batch up as "smashed spritz," which consisted of pinching gobs of the stuff onto the baking stone and smashing them down a bit to look like what was coming out of the cookie press to start with.
But my epiphany came because there is more to it than that. I know that one person's nightmare is a labor of pure love for another. Each year up until now, these "fat sugar cookies," everyone's favorite, have been the bane of my holiday baking existence, yet the only ones anyone really wants to eat. They were always my favorites, so I guess I thought it only fair to share them with others.
The first attempt was made on a trip to Paris. I was visiting my husband to be who was working for a company there. We stayed with his uncle, aunt and their three young daughters. It was very kind of them to make room for us in their home and I wanted to do something nice in return. I had no job, no gifts, but I had my recipe with me. It was almost Christmas, and what could be better than cookies at that time of year.
I made a mess, a mess that took a long time to become a mess, and even longer to clean up. The sour cream was not the right consistency. Heck, it wasn't even sour cream, it was "creme fraiche," which technically means the exact opposite of sour cream. I had no Crisco, no experience with making this recipe, and no pastry cutter to at least get things moving in the right direction. Years later, I would also discover, via the wisdom of the great Julia Child, that the very consistency of French flour is different than American flour, and the percentage of fat in American butter also differs, which means recipe modifications beyond my wildest imagination.
The year my mother tried to teach me to make them we will leave out of this discussion.
I would eventually figure out a version of these that worked in France, still no pastry cutter, and make them year after year. I made them in a tiny toaster oven, six at a time, all for love. Each year it was a struggle. Each year I would threaten to throw the whole thing out the window as the dough warmed up and became stickier and stickier, then more and more full of flour to compensate.
Now that I have a great big ol' American oven, and a pastry cutter, and even shortening, life is pretty luxurious, but these fat sugar cookies are still a thorn in my holiday-baking side! I guess it's time to go unwrap the dough and get started. The recipe? A family secret, I'm sorry.
This is a recipe capable of doing permanent damage. It can rip apart families; damage mother-daughter relationships, make a fool out of you in front of cousins or in-laws, stretch to the limit the love between a husband and wife. I have made my peace with it, I make the darn things, year after year, but this is the very first year I have been able to surrender to what I must have conveniently forgotten; what those cookies are going to put me through.
I woke up completely at peace with my project this morning. After attempting spritz with a cookie press last night, most likely nothing else could faze me. The dough would not come out of the cookies press. When the dough did come out, it stuck to the press and had to be scraped off with a knife, rendering the pressed image obsolete. I did refrigerate it, for a few days actually, between the first time I tried with limited success and this time. So I made a fresh, unrefrigerated batch of dough, at 8:00 at night, which is bedtime. I had promised the kids cookies. My husband is staring at me incredulously, and not in a good way, wanting to know what I am doing, not making more dough? What about the other dough?
The first disk I tried maybe wasn't the easiest, I went back to the Christmas tree. Still no luck. I simultaneously googled "cookie press instructions and called my mother. Online I read encouraging comments along the lines of, "I HATE MY COOKIE PRESS!" and; "Mine went to the trash man, and I put a hammer to it to avoid some poor other fool suffering the same fate." Hmmm, what had I gotten myself into. My mother came to the rescue with her observations of, "Your generation doesn't seem to have the same level of patience as mine had. Yes, they are a pain, you have to work with a press to get the hang of it. Grandma made even more types than I did; she would make wreaths with the ribbon-shaped one; around for a wreath, then a bow on top." I remembered them, they were even dyed; green for the wreath and red for the bow. That settled that. I loved both my mother and my grandmother, but I did not require some remnant from the 50's housewife era to make my time here on earth meaningful. I declared it a most unfortunate experiment and made the rest of the batch up as "smashed spritz," which consisted of pinching gobs of the stuff onto the baking stone and smashing them down a bit to look like what was coming out of the cookie press to start with.
But my epiphany came because there is more to it than that. I know that one person's nightmare is a labor of pure love for another. Each year up until now, these "fat sugar cookies," everyone's favorite, have been the bane of my holiday baking existence, yet the only ones anyone really wants to eat. They were always my favorites, so I guess I thought it only fair to share them with others.
The first attempt was made on a trip to Paris. I was visiting my husband to be who was working for a company there. We stayed with his uncle, aunt and their three young daughters. It was very kind of them to make room for us in their home and I wanted to do something nice in return. I had no job, no gifts, but I had my recipe with me. It was almost Christmas, and what could be better than cookies at that time of year.
I made a mess, a mess that took a long time to become a mess, and even longer to clean up. The sour cream was not the right consistency. Heck, it wasn't even sour cream, it was "creme fraiche," which technically means the exact opposite of sour cream. I had no Crisco, no experience with making this recipe, and no pastry cutter to at least get things moving in the right direction. Years later, I would also discover, via the wisdom of the great Julia Child, that the very consistency of French flour is different than American flour, and the percentage of fat in American butter also differs, which means recipe modifications beyond my wildest imagination.
The year my mother tried to teach me to make them we will leave out of this discussion.
I would eventually figure out a version of these that worked in France, still no pastry cutter, and make them year after year. I made them in a tiny toaster oven, six at a time, all for love. Each year it was a struggle. Each year I would threaten to throw the whole thing out the window as the dough warmed up and became stickier and stickier, then more and more full of flour to compensate.
Now that I have a great big ol' American oven, and a pastry cutter, and even shortening, life is pretty luxurious, but these fat sugar cookies are still a thorn in my holiday-baking side! I guess it's time to go unwrap the dough and get started. The recipe? A family secret, I'm sorry.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Twenty years
I have known my love for twenty years today. We met and fell instantly into something like infatuation within minutes on a rainy December 10th in France, twenty years ago. I walked in the door, he walked out, holding out his hand to his father for the car keys. Later that night at dinner, with the entire family present, as well as a few guests, things heated up, talk about a public courtship! But it was France and flirting was standard in this cozy atmosphere.
Dinner was a cheese fondue, and of course, if you drop your bread in the fondue, you have to take a dare. As a novice fondue participant, I dropped most of my bread into the pot with each try. The naughty dare was issued but not seized upon; "you have to sleep with me." It was all in jest, mostly, at least for that night.
And then, five years later, we were married, not far from that first meeting, in the town hall of a village that is so tiny it can't even be granted the title of "town." Many addresses, fifteen years and five children wealthier, we are celebrating.
Happy Anniversary, mon amour!
Dinner was a cheese fondue, and of course, if you drop your bread in the fondue, you have to take a dare. As a novice fondue participant, I dropped most of my bread into the pot with each try. The naughty dare was issued but not seized upon; "you have to sleep with me." It was all in jest, mostly, at least for that night.
And then, five years later, we were married, not far from that first meeting, in the town hall of a village that is so tiny it can't even be granted the title of "town." Many addresses, fifteen years and five children wealthier, we are celebrating.
Happy Anniversary, mon amour!
Friday, December 5, 2008
Mini Christmas revolt
For all the poor Francophiles out there, affected by a decision of the French justice to shut down websites with lyrics to songs in French (which I discovered this morning while innocently looking up the words to "Silent Night" to make sure I got them right when I was teaching my little French citizen-abroad children the words to a classic Christmas tune), HERE ARE THE WORDS:
(I wonder if they can shut down my blog from France?)
Peace and blessings to you all in this Advent season,
from the snowy Midwest, to the tune of what we call, Silent Night, here is:
(I wonder if they can shut down my blog from France?)
Peace and blessings to you all in this Advent season,
from the snowy Midwest, to the tune of what we call, Silent Night, here is:
Paroles Chants de Noel Douce nuit, sainte nuit lyrics
Douce nuit, sainte nuit !
Dans les cieux ! L'astre luit.
Le mystère annoncé s'accomplit
Cet enfant sur la paille endormi,
C'est l'amour infini ! {x2}
Saint enfant, doux agneau !
Qu'il est grand ! Qu'il est beau !
Entendez résonner les pipeaux
Des bergers conduisant leurs troupeaux
Vers son humble berceau ! {x2}
C'est vers nous qu'il accourt,
En un don sans retour !
De ce monde ignorant de l'amour,
Où commence aujourd'hui son séjour,
Qu'il soit Roi pour toujours ! {x2}
Quel accueil pour un Roi !
Point d'abri, point de toit !
Dans sa crèche il grelotte de froid
O pécheur, sans attendre la croix,
Jésus souffre pour toi ! {x2}
Paix à tous ! Gloire au ciel !
Gloire au sein maternel,
Qui pour nous, en ce jour de Noël,
Enfanta le Sauveur éternel,
Qu'attendait Israël ! {x2}
Sunday, November 30, 2008
First snow
I awoke this morning to the magical scene of our first snow of the year covering the ground and still falling, all was still. Upon opening the drapes to better enjoy the vision, I found a possum, eye to eye with me, just as surprised as I, who made his way, widdle-waddle, around the back porch, to the gate, then up, and wiggled his way back down. It was wonderland.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
A BOOK REVEIW
Today I am doing a book reveiw on a book that I have read at least six times. It is called Harriet the spy, and I love it. I have also read Harriet spys again. Read this book!
Cate,
Cate,
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