Daffodil Lament

Emilia: 'Mama?  Maybe we ought to buy some flowers today.'

And the daffodils look lovely today! (Hey, hey!  Look lovely!  Look lovely!)

La Vie en Rose

Des yeux qui font baiser les miensUn rire qui se perd sur sa boucheVoila le portrait sans retoucheDe l'homme auquel, j'appartiens
Quand il me prend dans ses brasIl me parle tout basJe vois la vie en rose
Il me dit des mots d'amourDes mots de tous les joursEt ça me fait quelque chose
Il est entré dans mon coeurUne part de bonheurDont je connais la cause
C'est lui pour moiMoi pour lui dans la vieIl me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie
Et, dès que je l'apercoisAlors je sens en moiMon coeur qui bat
Des nuits d'amour à ne plus en finirUn grand bonheur qui prend sa placeDes enuis des chagrins, des phasesHeureux, heureux a en mourir
Quand il me prend dans ses brasIl me parle tout basJe vois la vie en rose
Il me dit des mots d'amourDes mots de tous les joursEt ça me fait quelque chose
Il est entré dans mon CoeurUne part de bonheurDont je connais la cause
C'est toi pour moiMoi pour toi dans la vieIl me l'a dit, m'a juré pour la vie
Et, dès que je l'apercoisAlors je sens en moiMon coeur qui bat

A Cheery Pink Lemon Curd

Sometimes lemon curd is just the thing.  I've used pink lemons this time -- only because Emilia and I wandered into them at the store last week.  They taste lovely -- light and refreshing, not overwhelming the way a Meyer lemon can do sometimes.  (I am fiercely loyal to Meyer lemons, so if you ask me to repeat that later, I'm afraid I will not.). Once the curd cools, put it in an old jam jar with a pretty top, and plonk it front and center in your fridge.  That way you will smile in the morning when you open the fridge to sort out breakfast for two small children.

The recipe is from Dorie Greenspan, whom I love and adore.  It seems a bit easier than the one I've always done in the past, and is every bit as marvelous as marvelous can be. Besides that, it is perfection on a scone.

Lemon Curd

1 1/4 cups sugar
3/4 stick (6 tablespoons) unsalted butter, cut into 6 pieces
1 large egg
6 large egg yolks
Freshly squeezed juice of 4 lemons

Put all of the ingredients in a heavy-bottomed medium-sized saucepan.  Stir to moisten sugar.  Place over medium-low heat, and cook, stirring all the while, until the butter melts and it all begins to thicken like a custard.  The recipe says 4-6 minutes.  I'd say closer to 8-10, for me.  Keep your eye on it.  It will continue to thicken as it cools.  Remove from heat, and scrape the curd into a bowl.  Press a piece of plastic wrap on top to create an airtight seal. (I am almost unable to do this anymore because of BPA in plastic wrap, however, PCC claims to have a 'natural' one, so I've been going with that and hoping for the best.). Once the curd cools, find your jam jar and make good use of it. (Recipe from: Baking by Dorie Greenspan, Houghton Mifflin, 2006.)

Chivalric Running

I know it is 2013 and that chivalry is (sadly and tragically) deader-than-a-door-knell.  And yet -- every time I am out running, I do think twice before passing a man who is also out for a run.  Because really, there ought to be a sense of propriety in the world. Shouldn't there be?  And what's more, I'm told men don't really like being passed  by little ladies -- particularly those with joggers.
So what do I do?  I pass him anyway, and I leave him in my dust.

Every.
Single.
Time.

And I smile, but just a little bit -- because that wouldn't be proper.

On January

I was gone for three days -- through no fault of my own, mind you, but still gone nonetheless.  And Michael stayed home with the kids, fell behind at work, and made sure the whole house was clean when I got home.  It would appear he spent most of this time quite sober, bless his heart.  (Which is another reason he is a better person than me.)  But I am grateful.  I am very grateful, indeed.

And yet my nearest and dearest, the one I love above all others, declares this past Sunday evening: 'Aaaah, everything is back to normal!  Leo is screaming and mama is depressed.  Awesome.'  And there we are.  There we are.  Indeed.

I Like For You To Be Still

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.

I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.

And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it's not true.

Pablo Neruda

Sonnet XXVII

Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
You have moonlines, applepathways:
Naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.

Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba.
You have vines and stars in your hair;
Naked, you are spacious and yellow.

That's How I Believe

'I suppose they try and make you believe an awful lot of nonsense?'
'Is it nonsense?  I wish it were.  It sometimes sounds terribly sensible to me.'
'But, my dear Sebastian, you can't seriously believe it all.'
'Can't I?'
'I mean about Christmas and the star and the three kings and the ox and the ass.'
'Oh yes, I believe that. It's a lovely idea.'
'But you can't believe things because they are a lovely idea.'
'But I do.  That's how I believe.'

-- Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

Two Birthdays -- One for me, One for him

Leo has been running around these days singing 'Hey!  Ho!'  And he has been feeling rather pleased with his little self because of it.  Whereas I, in turn, have been running around singing back to him (and his big sister) this:

I belong to you
You belong to me
You're my sweetheart!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjVlbK7OOrc

Hands and Face Bread

This is made entirely by hand.  And if you put enough warm melty butter and a great big splodge of raspberry jam on top, it will also get all over your face.  Tis a lovely thing.  (Yes, much sighing is definitely in order.)

Oatmeal Molasses Bread
3/4 cup rolled oats
1/4 cup steel-cut oats
2 cups boiling water
2 tablespoons melted butter
1/2 cup, plus 2 tablespoons molasses (I like blackstrap best)
2 teaspoons salt
1 tablespoon dry yeast
1/2 cup lukewarm water
5 1/2 cups bread flour (I usually use Whole Foods All-Purpose and it works perfectly.  But I like to live dangerously.  In fact, sometimes I even like to use all steel-cut oats, and this is not because I am a lazy git who doesn't feel like going to the store for regular old-fashioned rolled oats.  I swear.)

Combine the oats in a bowl and pour the hot water over the top.  Let sit for one hour.  Stir in melted butter, salt, and molasses.

In a separate bowl, combine the water (heated to 110-115 degree F) and yeast.  Stir in 2 tablespoons molasses and let the mixture sit for ten minutes.  It should look nice and frothy-ish when you go to use it.  Add this to the oats.  Then mix in the flour.  (Pay attention to the stickiness of the dough -- not too sticky, not too dry.)

Knead the dough for about ten minutes.  Then place it in a buttered bowl with a wet cloth on top.  Let rise in a warm place for two hours, until doubled in size.  Punch down the dough and shape it into two loaves.  Plonk them in buttered bread pans and let sit again until doubled in size.  Roughly thirty minutes or so.

Preheat the oven to 425 F.  Place in the oven for ten minutes.  Then turn the oven to 350 F.  Bake for another 35 minutes.  They should sound nice and hollow when tapped.

Cool on racks for a few and then pop out of the tins and let cool completely.

(Usually we eat one loaf right away. And I tuck the other away in the freezer to be pulled out when my hands and face are feeling a bit too tidy, and I could use a smile during the breakfast hour.) 

Recipe from: With a Measure of Grace. By Blake Spalding and Jennifer Castle.  Provecho Press, 2004.)