The thing about sourdough

The thing about sourdough is that it takes a while.

It begins with a "starter", which is basically a concoction of flour, water and natural yeast. It has to be grown, nurtured with twice daily feedings of flour and water, and, as most newbies believe, magic.

Like most newbies, within days of the first stirring, I started asking "how about now?" I was plagued with doubt. Everyone who has baked a successful loaf is an expert and every expert has an opinion.

It took a good two months to get to a healthy starter. But that was a good thing for me. I needed a purpose.

It takes a couple of loaves to get the feel for the dough. Like so many things, until you understand the process, it seems unnecessarily complicated and arbitrary. There are all sorts of new concepts and terms to wrap your head around.

As frustrating as it was, because, you know, I've been baking since I was a little kid and how freaking hard can it be? It was also good for me. I was in a battle for my life last fall. Finding something to learn, to master, to nurture was the perfect way to get out of my head.

Each loaf takes a couple of days to make. The steps really aren't hard at all, and it's not like you're slaving over the dough the entire time. There is work to be done, and then it is time for the dough to rest. Each working of the dough both undoes the previous work, and builds upon it. A more perfect metaphor for my battle with depression I can not find.

I began my sourdough journey last fall when I was coming out of yet another round of major depression and needed a purpose. Feeding "the baby" every day gave me something to be responsible for.

Depression is different for everyone. For me, it is filled with self loathing, failure and unworthiness, anger turned inward, as they say. I've battled it my entire adult life, even as I've entertained thousands of quilters, taught hundreds of classes, written dozens of books, laughed with friends.

I feel that I can share this struggle with you now because I'm no longer active on the quilt teacher circuit. I mean, really, who wants to hire a depressed teacher? At last, I can be completely honest with you, and in doing so, perhaps someone reading this won't feel so terribly alone.

My life is completely deluxe. I am blessed in so many ways. Even knowing that doesn't prevent the monster from haunting me. Depression is a damned liar and a thief of joy. Once more I have wrestled it to the ground. This is more than a loaf of bread to me. It's been part of the pathway home. Be kind. You may never know the desperate private battles being waged.

There, now here

We have all this stuff. Too much stuff, depending on who you ask, but I'm not asking today. The trick is making it fit. Not fit, like finding a place for everything, but finding what's right for this house. I'm having trouble using what we brought with us to decorate where we are now.

To be honest, it was all starting to feel a bit stale. A couple of years ago I realized that I hadn't redecorated in a very long time. It was as if I had finally found just the right thing for each space and then left it there. I was happy with it, and then, suddenly, I wasn't. Now I've brought it all here. I'm torn between comforting familiarity and the idea of trying to make this house into the one we left. (I tried to convince Kent that we should just sell all of it and use the moving stipend to start fresh, but he wasn't persuaded.)

This is the kitchen chandelier that came with the house. Meh.

This is the chandelier that we brought with us. It was perfect in the old kitchen. It has a sweet story. My mom found it at a yard sale for a song. Knowing how much I love blue willow, she thought it would be perfect for me and had it in the trunk of her car when we found the Saginaw house. Hanging it was one of the first changes we made when the old house became ours.

I can't decide. Wall color aside (it will be gone as soon as the weather shifts us from garden to indoor work), does it fit? Can I decorate the kitchen around it? (You have no idea how badly I'd love to paint the cabinets white. If they were real wood it would have already been done.) Does it stay, or does it go?

The Annual Gingerbread House Build

After all the dregs of another turkey dinner are swept away it's time to break out the gingerbread. I just love doing this for, and with, the grandkids. When we broke out the fixings Alex exclaimed, "oh goody, we get to make a mess!" We always have a crazy good time, and every year the houses get just a little more involved.

Nate, my oldest, and Alex get right to work on their houses. We use a three piece cookie cutter set to get the basic shapes. I think I broke down and bought a gingerbread house kit one year, just to get the cutters.

The grands still mostly rely on the cutters, but the kids are branching off into designs of their own.

Amanda and Nicole get moving too. Nicole is a take-charge kind of girl. gotta love that about her.

Of course, as far as the kids are concerned, it's not time for baking until the snowflake aprons and chefs' hats appear.

The real fun begins when it's time to build and decorate the houses. Just look at how intense the two engineers are! They are not content with cookie cutter houses. They always come up with something interesting. Nicole, on the other hand, is all about the glitter, she's my tomboy princess.

Finally it's time for our close-ups.










Alex wanted his picture to look like he was about to smash the house with his arm. I'm not sure that's the kind of thing that Captain America would do, but there you have it.

Amanda's winter wonderland house. Isn't she beautiful? (I'm pretty sure she has no idea how beautiful she is, which is part of her charm.) When it comes to mates, all of my boys have chosen very well.














Especially considering what they have to work with.

But then, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Catching up on Christmas

The tradition started more than two decades ago. We were scraping by, raising four kids on one income, and we just didn't have the ability to buy gifts for our extended family. To fill the void, I began baking Christmas cookies and breads for the family. We were living in Wisconsin in the early years, far from family. To make the gift seem more substantial (to me at least), I packaged the stuff as prettily as possible, and called it an instant party: just pull it out of the freezer about an hour before guests arrive and let them believe you've been baking all day.

I started this Christmas season with a whopper of a sinus infection. Honestly, at one point I thought my teeth were being forced out of my jaws. Ever hopeful that I might keep up with my baking schedule, I spent a week stockpiling cookie dough for baking when I felt a bit better.

After eight days of misery I threw in the towel and went to a "Doc in a Box" (MedExpress). When the doc lightly touched my face it was all I could do to keep from decking him (and it wasn't the "with holly" type of decking I had in mind). He gave me excellent drugs. I felt nearly human again in a couple of days.

And then I tried to bake up all that cookie dough. When the first batch turned into lava in the oven, I realized that I had doubled the butter in all of the recipes. I guess I decided that 1/4 pound = 1/4 cup. Hey, I was sick! There was nothing else to do but toss the dough for double batches of gingersnaps, oatmeal jumbles and sugar cookies. Yikes! How long have I been baking?

I love orange cranberry nut bread. I use an old family recipe from Ocean Spray. (I didn't say it was MY old family). This year I planned to use tiny little bundt pans for the baking.

Aren't they adorable? They would have been, if I had thought to turn down the oven temp just a smidge so they could bake long enough to cook through without over browning on the outside. The first batch turned out to be piles of mush, that I practically had to pry out of the pans because I took them at their word when the label said nonstick coating. After a liberal dose of antibiotics (for me, not the bread), the second batch came out much better.

When I wasn't throwing a pity party on the couch, or inflicting miserable crimes on baking ingredients, I did spend a bit of time weaving up some of my hand spun yarn on my rigid heddle loom.

I'm not sure that I'm sold yet, on the whole weaving thing. It's pretty repetitive. But it is rather fascinating to watch the colors change, and there are some nifty weaving tricks I look forward trying. We shall see.

Our Christmas was very quiet this year. Our boys are far flung now, and none of them made it to the house this year to celebrate. I thought I might be sad about that, but, to tell you the truth, I was totally okay with it. Since we also weren't hosting any family Christmas parties this year, we barely decorated, and that was okay with us as well. Despite all the kitchen fiascoes, and the quiet household, we had a lovely, joyous Christmas. Here's hoping that your holiday season brought you the same.

What I really did in November

Alex (6 1/2 years) and Nicole (almost 4), and me (29),
getting started on gingerbread houses.

It appears that I don't actually have a novel in me. Every time I give a lecture, at least one person tells me I should be writing. (Hmm, maybe that's instead of speaking? Never thought of that before.) Turns out it's not for me. At least not fiction. And not now.

But I do have these amazing grandchildren who need an amazing grammy. This, this is what I want to be remembered for.

Alex was most excited about the mess we were about to make than anything else, I did everything I could to indulge him. We had flour everywhere, and laughter and joy.

The holidays are different for us this year. None of the boys lives in town with us. First Nate and Amanda left to take a job on the west side of the state. Then Jake and Rachel took of to Baltimore so she could finish school. David joined Nate to find a job. And the Caleb and Elaine romped off to Kansas this summer to find their fortunes there.

Nate and Amanda usually come into town for Thanksgiving, but they usually arrive at our house later in the day, stuffed to the gills from her grandmother's table. This year, instead of trying to out Martha Martha (which I normally love),Kent and I and David had just a simple dinner early in the day. I made a turkey breast (why on earth hadn't I thought of this sooner?), and just the sides that we like the best. And pies. And dough for gingerbread houses.

Just as the sugar overtook the turkey drouse, we fired up the oven and started building our cookie homes. I have a simple cutter set for the basic walls and roof, but this is a creative family and the deviations from the simple plan began immediately.

The next day, instead of fighting the crazy people at the stores, we got together again to build and decorate our houses. Even the men folk had a ball. Kent used a meat tenderizer on his gingerbread pieces for texture, so he built a "waffle house". Nicole pretty much just stuck pink sprinkles on everything, including some of us, but it made her happy.

Even the "big kids" had serious fun. This is what you get when you ask David to pose with his house. Isn't it cool? He used yellow mini m&ms in the windows for the Advent candles we always place in ours.

It's kind of amazing what sticks with our kids. It may be trite, but it is true: life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. The boys seem to cherish the small things that made us a family, not the grand schemes meant to create a once-in-a-lifetime memory.

Nate, my son the engineer. I have always thought of him as my quiet son. He's always been intensely private. I'm not sure where this hysterically funny guy came from, but I'm so happy he's here. This guy works long hours; he and his wife are raising two delightful kids and creating a loving home. He makes my heart full.

Alex got his mess alright, and then some. Even though we had some housing disasters when the mortar failed, we all had just a spectacular time. The houses are currently living on my dining room table, but I have plans for them.

When it comes to holiday, sometimes different isn't so bad. I got to keep the best part of Thanksgiving, and have started a new tradition on holiday house building. If it turns out that Kent and I are on our own on Christmas morning (for the first time in more than 30 years), I don't think it will be bad at all. I hear I may have some new "grown up" jammies under the tree.

A mere trifle

It's been a while since I've had a baking disaster. Baking, pies, cakes, cookies, it's one of my favorite things to do. (Not great for losing weight though.) We've done a bit of entertaining this summer. Our third son, Caleb, graduated from Saginaw Valley State U, with a degree in history, in May. This milestone is especially sweet since Caleb has been challenged by dyslexia.

For one of our parties, I decided I'd make our favorite Dreamsickle Pound Cake, found in last year's Celebrate magazine. And then this happened:

I've never had a problem releasing a cake from this pan. Oh, the pain! The pain! I was so disgusted that I just left the mess sitting there for most of the afternoon, wondering how on earth I would recover from this fiasco. And then it came to me. I'll turn it into a trifle. Just chop up the whole lot of it, layer it with fresh fruit and whipped cream. The fruit makes it healthy, right?

In looking up trifle recipes, I noticed that many of them included lemon curd. After some more surfing the web, (honestly, how did we learn anything before the internet and YouTube?), I found a terrific recipe for orange curd.

In my usual bad blogger fashion, I forgot to take a picture of the assembled trifle (it was really quite pretty). But I did get a shot of it before it was entirely gone.

I think they liked it.