Paintbrush strokes

I have never attempted to write a blog post after 36 consecutive waking hours, but there's a first for everything, right? If these thoughts fall flat or abruptly stop altogether, I blame the sleep deprivation. At least my teeth are brushed and my face is washed...I'm prepared; no mascara on the pillow case tonight.

At this point, my mind is too busy for sleep. I just finished my ninth and final semester of college (the quantity of classes I'm taking this summer will count as another full semester, but I don't want to think about that now). I want to reflect back before I move forward.

So I'm going to take us way back this evening, to not just my first day of college but my first day, ever, of school. I was headed off to Standard 1 at St. Heliers School in Auckland, New Zealand. I know what I wore that day because we have a picture, but I remember those first few minutes of saying goodbye to my mom and sidling up to Mrs. Bourke without any documentation.

From there glimpses of my year and a quarter at St. Heliers are disjointed flashes of remembrance, at best. The way Julia's ponytail swung so proudly, high atop her head, as we ran across the playground. The way Tim Glatt's long eyelashes made me feel giggly. Field day events in our gym uniforms: white shorts and light blue t-shirts. Singing New Zealand's national anthem at assemblies in our dark, closterphobic gym. Sliding down a wet slope during recess, my leg going under a fence, and earning a scar down my right shin.

There are many random (and relevant memories) stored within me from my four formative years in New Zealand, yet I know so many things are lost. As I considered this attitude and response I gained from never getting to go back and visit NZ in the past fifteen years, I wanted to capture a snapshot of what I presently feel like life was like there, acknowledging that I bring glamorized biases and nostalgic innocence and my own degree of imagination to make up for what I lack in vivid memory. So, here you have the first of my paintings from my final series in Painting II this semester...



The second piece in the series ended up being a lot different from the first. I took my experiences and relationship with Bellingham, WA, the place I lived from ages eight to eighteen, and attempted to capture my present response to these memories and landmarks. Instead of childhood innocence, you get some adult realism. While beautiful objects do exist, their presence is disputed by the the choice of moody, gloomy colors. It's supposed to be sad and yet also beautiful. An uncomfortable mixture of both. A response I'm still trying to figure out how to deal with in real life...



And the lines across both paintings? -- they are road lines I pulled forward on the surface as I finished out the paintings to explain my composition and emphasize a sense of place through further complexity and layering.

[05/08: 14 hours later...I just woke up half an hour ago. My neck's a little stiff, but the rest of my body is thanking me for much needed rest. I started writing these last few lines while falling asleep last night, so I figured it would be wise to hold off on publishing until I was more cognitive...]

I just wanted to share where much of my time and thought have been in the last month. I'd love to hear which painting you respond to more and any other reactions you have. These paintings are 2.5' x 4', acrylic on masonite board.

Glimpses from a holiday

I planned to blog this weekend. But then, I also planned to go to class today. Neither happened, and I don't have any fabulous reasons for you as to why it just wasn't possible. But, because I didn't blog -- and because I didn't go to class -- I got to spend some valuable time with friends on Saturday night, check off my to-do list, and, today, still had the energy at 5:15 to grab my yoga mat and go workout at a time when I'm usually ready to flop on my bed and close my eyes for a few minutes of precious rest. Sometimes trade offs are worthwhile, even if there is now a big paint canvas calling my name from the art building.

I'm going to go ahead and backtrack a couple weeks and fill you in on the rest of my spring break. It's worth remembering and sharing. Like I mentioned before, I started out in Lubbock and got to soak up time with my uncle and his family, whom I rarely see. I just can't get enough of those little cousins. They put up with my annoying photo-op demands quite well.



The second half of the week was spent in San Antonio. While there, my adopted Hispanic grandmother threw a birthday party for my friend's dad, and it was an event to remember. With all the cheek kissing and margarita drinking and endless streaming of people into the house (all claiming to be related to each other) it was a naturally chaotic, enjoyable time.

I baked a Guinness Chocolate Cake as my contribution, and it disappeared so quickly that even the 51-year-old birthday boy missed out. But, then, it did have an amazing Guinness Buttercream just begging to have a finger dug into it. And then, with evidence of a greedy finger on a slice of cake in full view, you can't very well just leave it sitting there. It belongs on a plate with a ready fork in your fist at that point, right?

On the morning of the party day, I made a quick trip to Austin and got to meet the people behind Foodzie. Despite the distracting location of our rendezvous, I was so glad to make face-to-face contact with those I work with on a daily basis via my computer. I'm still interning for them and find my culinary imagination whirring as I copy, edit, and write about chocolate truffles and intriguing pickles and olive oil infusions.

So, between my hours seeking out free wireless connections around San Antonio to "be a foodzie," eating homemade Puerto Rican rice and beans, and hitting up the shops that Abilene will only ever dream of having, I still managed to pull out my camera. I had a very willing model on hand, so I sent her out into the cold with a pile of scarves around her neck and bare toes on concrete one day.



Another day I grabbed some eyeliner and headed beyond the corner of her eye, onto her cheek and down her neck with the freeing feeling that I was finally able to do what I always got in trouble for growing up (I have a distinct memory of a friend and I drawing on our faces with cheap, bad-smelling make up once...her mom officially drew the line when nail polish started going on the cheeks and nose).



So, this was my spring break. Somehow the Guinness Chocolate Cake never made it into my camera's viewfinder, but this just leaves an excuse to make it again sometime. You know, for official documentation.

That canvas is still calling me, but it's too late into the night to respond now. I think I'll give some love and care to the blank sheet of linoleum on my bedroom floor. I swear it's sending messages of neglect my way.

And I love the times

I'm sitting in a crowded coffee shop in Lubbock, Texas, tuning out the loud conversations around me with a mix of voices on my iTunes. I'm escaping a little further.

It's spring break. That infamous week-long party that comes with college life, but I have this theory that my school scheduled it early this year just so we couldn't join forces with anyone beyond our fellow classmates. Not that I'm disappointed. I simply don't have any interest.

I've escaped from Abilene for a few days and that's exhilarating in itself. I'm sipping my fair share of my uncle's home-bottled wine and beer while playing soccer with his kids and talking with his wife about the endless family news that comes with having nine aunts and uncles. And now I get to be in a little coffee shop with the scent of espresso absorbed into the walls and half of a banana muffin on a plate before me. This is all indeed a luxury in a schedule that has booked my life with attending classes, working, studying for those classes, and interning online. I even got to go out for a run/walk this morning for an hour. Phew.

It's nice to have room to breathe.

Not that enjoyment is sucked out of life while in my regular routine. By no means. I love the art that I get to do for "homework," even if it does sometimes require energy I don't seem to have. I love bringing a new batch of photos into my photography teacher to hear his encouragement and receive his critiques. I love every single person I work with in my university's little Study Abroad Office. And I love the times I get with friends on the weekends and (very occasional) weekday.

Last Sunday afternoon happened to be one of those times. It was a beautifully sunny day and a friend was scheduled to stop by to cut my roommate's hair, so I decided to whip up something comforting, slightly sweet, and pretty enough for plenty of lingering-over.

I have been wanting to try the Nutmeg Doughnut Muffins in Molly of Orangette's recipe archive for some time now, but the timing never seemed right. For one, I was not raised with the concept of a "right time" for doughnuts, so that word in the recipe title kept throwing me. I loved the idea of the nutmeg and the look of powdered sugar dusted across the surface, but the word doughnut was always supposed to come with a cringe growing up. While I will surely act more graciously in the presence of those outside my immediate family circle, after my few rebellious experiences with them at childhood friends' homes, I, too, have concluded that doughnuts don't do much for me. Now and then I can appreciatively nibble on one, but they rarely spur a craving.

All that to say, last weekend I found myself scanning over this recipe and finding ways to trim it up a bit so it would leave me feeling less like the average doughnut does...greasy, heavy, and remorseful. Besides, I knew Molly's taste buds did not tend toward that direction either, so there had to be something to these muffins. I pressed on.

I used the last of my oat flour, which cut out a little of the all-purpose. I substituted coconut milk for the whole milk. And I cut back on the butter and sugar applied to the outside. What came out of the oven was delicious. It had a greater complexity to it than I imagine the original does, with ever-so-subtle scents of coconut and oats. Each muffin was light, fluffy, and cozy in all its nutmeg-y goodness. They didn't even need the powdered sugar coating, but I went ahead and put it on the tops of about half. It dressed them up a notch, and because I had cut two tablespoons of sugar out of the batter, the added sugar matched a mildly sweet crumb.

I better get over my "doughnut" word prejudice. Because I plan on sharing these with a lot more people.



Nutmeg Doughnut Muffins
Adapted from Orangette, who was inspired by Columbia City Bakery and adapted her own recipe from Kathleen Stewart of the Downtown Bakery & Creamery, Healdsburg, CA

Muffins:
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup oat flour
2 ½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
¾ cup plus 1 Tbs coconut milk (substitute water for the additional tablespoon if using full-fat coconut milk)
2 Tablespoons buttermilk (or 1 Tbs plain whole milk yogurt/1 Tbs water)
1 ½ sticks (6 oz) unsalted butter, at room temperature
¾ cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs

Topping:
3 Tablespoons unsalted buttter
1 cup powdered sugar

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Grease 1-2 muffin tins (expect to make 12 muffins) or fill with muffin liners.

In a medium bowl, combine flour, oat flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg. Whisk together thoroughly, and then set aside.

Combine coconut milk and buttermilk in a measuring cup or small bowl, and set aside.

Place butter in the bowl of a stand mixer with the paddle attachment or in a large mixing bowl with an available electric beater. Beat until the butter is soft and creamy. With the motor running pour the sugar in a steady stream (or in small, gradual portions with the electric beater). Continue beating, scraping down sides, until the mixture increases in volume and lightens to pale yellow. Look for it to become light, fluffy, and creamy, like frosting. Then add the eggs, one at a time, until everything is just combined.

With a large spatula or wooden spoon, mix a fourth of the flour mixture into the butter mixture. Add a fourth of the coconut milk mixture. Continue to add the dry and wet ingredients alternately until everything is just incorporated. Do not overmix.

Spoon the batter into the cups of the muffin tin. Bake until they are just turning golden and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, about 25-30 minutes.

When the muffins are cool enough to handle, prepare the topping by melting the butter in the microwave or on the stovetop and measuring the powdered sugar into a deep bowl. Using a pastry brush, lightly brush the top of one muffin with butter and turn it upside down into the bowl of powdered sugar. (You may brush the whole surface with butter and roll it in powdered sugar if you prefer.) Shake off excess sugar and serve.*

These kept well for me for another two days, though they need to be in an airtight container. Also, Molly mentions that the batter can be kept in the fridge, covered, for up to three days.

Squares and Circles

I did it. Tonight I made my first ever bid on Ebay. And I won.

Now I am the giddy owner (well, almost) of a polaroid camera. No more drooling over polaroid blogs or flickr albums for me; I get to join in the beauty of it all. Muted colors, fuzzy edges, oh joy.

In the meantime, I have narrowed my collection of photos through my zoom lens down to four that I'm going to turn in for my photography class. They're cropped in a square format (like polaroids, ironically) but are working with the circle within the frame.

Compromising

I am telling you, I would be such a better student if my homework could be done in a kitchen. I tend to spend my spare hours in that room.

Maybe that's how food photography became a hobby of mine. Surely, making food is an art in itself, but the opportunity to satisfy a guilty conscience by also turning my energy toward photographic exploration has proved to be a good compromise.

Today this compromise worked out quite nicely. As I baked a cake with my roommate and persevered in the dream of a perfected pâte brisée, I took some shots from a new perspective. It reminds me of a shy little peek or an abstract promise (i.e. there is more to come, and it seems to be beautiful; the-whole-picture-just-doesn't-get-to-be-revealed-yet sort of thing).







What do you think?

A Mess Too

Sometimes art just won't get done without creating a mess too.

Maybe this is why I shy away sometimes. I'm an orderly person most of the time, but after all the time spent listening to art-talk in my classes today, I went ahead and spilled scraps all over my bedroom floor and pulled out scissors, a marker, watercolor palette, paint brush, water cup, and x-acto knife.

I stole the water bottle scrubber from the kitchen too. It's just abrasive enough to scratch up a smooth photograph surface.

...today I'm grateful that going to university classes means making prints, painting, taking photos, talking architecture, and singing songs about Napoleon in French.

Tuesdays with Dorie and Whole Other Canvases

It must have begun my first year of college. I no longer had to add my name to the long list of students who had used and abused the old textbook before me, scrawling their name in its front cover and admitting ownership and responsibility for that year. Nope, as a freshman I dropped a stomach-sickening amount of money on thick Chemistry, Nutrition, and English Composition books to be able to claim them as my own as well as face the dilemma of getting rid of them (especially after realizing I didn't even want to study sugar's molecular structure; I just wanted to paint).



But along the way I realized that I could highlight and doodle and underline and still get a decent buy-back price from the bookstore. I started wanting to do that in all my books. I even began to hunt through used bookstores for pages with rich texture created by text arrangement and paper surface and they became a whole other canvas.

As an artist, I love the idea of a personal mark, and it's so nice to happen across this in a book someone else has held before me...a little anecdote in the side margin, an exclamation point stuck onto the end of a statement or recipe title.

So maybe one day when I am sorting through my pile of cookbooks or when I am heading overseas and reducing my earthly belongings to a suitcase or two, I'll have to hand off Dorie's cookbook and someone will pick it up and appreciate the yeses and the question marks and the adjusted cooking times and the reminders of fun variations and not just see it all as messy. That's what I like to think, anyway.

This week's recipe is certainly worthy of some black ink because, according to the comments on the TWD site, a lot of us had problems with ratios of rice to milk and achieving a pudding-like consistency. After reading through other people's experiences, I estimated most of my amounts and came up with a very satisfactory result.

You can find the recipe posted on the blog of this week's host for Tuesdays with Dorie, Isabelle, at Les Gourmandises d'Isa (and I would kill to know how to pronounce that with a convincing French accent). She notes her adjustments, but here are mine as well...

Instead of white arborio rice I used brown sweet rice and cooked it to al dente. I halved the amount of milk (it was actually watered down half-and-half; I rarely have milk on hand) and brought it to a boil with only a tablespoon of sugar. Then I added half a cup of rice and stirred it very attentively for about forty minutes. At this point I could push my spatula across the bottom of the pan and see some of the metal before it all sank back together, so I called it good. I distributed the pudding between two cups and stirred a teaspoon of vanilla extract into one (half a teaspoon probably would have been fine) and generously sprinkled cinnamon into the other.



There are no pictures of my finished product of properly thickened pudding because the sun has set, and with it my camera has said goodnight, but I can testify that they both turned out great (not that they're both gone; goodness no, this is one rich little dish). I think the cinnamon flavor is my favorite, though I could easily be won over by chocolate.

This recipe is basically the same idea as my mom's Norwegian rice porridge that we share for Christmas Day breakfast. And I may be a little biased, but nothing will ever ever compare.

Spiced Green Apple and Life From Then to Now

Since my farewell blog on February 7th the tree outside my bedroom window has gone through notable stages. A few more brown shriveled leaves let go of otherwise bare branches. Ice coated its surface on a particularly cold day and created teardrop-like icicles that eventually surrendered their emotions and fell to the ground. Then the alternately hot, cold days here in Abilene averaged out to more hot than cold and green life began to peek through. Now those green buds are full new leaves and I am loving how the sunlight dances through them.

I feel like certain aspects of my life have gone through such drastic changes in the last two months. In February I was still fighting to carry out my plans for the fall semester: study art in New York City. There is an off-campus program through another school that I've had marked in my calendar for more than a year, but as I began to discuss the specifics with the art department at my current school (I learned about it at a different college I attended last year) the logistics began to look more tricky. The credits would be difficult to transfer, but what ultimately stopped me was that the cost of the program increased beyond what I could justify borrowing.


Honestly, the thought of spending yet another consecutive semester here made me run in search of alternative (cheaper) programs. I started an application to the University of Georgia's branch in Italy and even tried to arrange my classes so that I could stay there the whole year. I was ready to pack up and return to Europe.

Something caught me though. I feel like it was more a well-meaning foot stuck in my path in order to trip me, plant my face on the ground, and make me examine what is in front of me before getting up and dusting off. I still don't know clearly what I'm supposed to be looking at, but I think there's a measure of peace I'm supposed to reach with this place before I flee leave again.

While the class I came to this university with is graduating in May, I have a few good friends who are staying through, including my roommates, who I look forward to more time with before we all go out into the big wide world. In addition, I have an uncle, aunt, and three adorable little cousins a few hours away who I hope to see more of.


My roommate, Kelly, and I got a wonderful weekend away with them in March that had me tapping lightly at my computer keys, wishing I could log onto my blog and tell you about the fun we had. My uncle is a masterful bread-maker who taught us about growing starters, shaping the perfect loaf, and splashing water onto the sides of the oven in order to create steam for the baking bread (something that requires aim I lack so as not to pop any light bulbs or kill the oven altogether).




Oh, but I almost forgot to mention...! In the midst of mourning the loss of next year's travel plans, I am taking a long-dreamed-of trip to Japan this summer. The university in my hometown of Bellingham is taking a group of art students for three weeks in July, and I am joining them. We'll be traveling all over, learning about traditional and modern Japanese art, and when the program is over I'll stay an extra week at my friend's home north of Tokyo. I am so excited!

It will be a whirlwind summer, so I am grateful for the brief time I got with my family for the Easter holiday. I wish I had pictures to share, but I arrived at the airport twenty minutes before my flight left and had to leave my suitcase (containing my camera) in the trunk of my friend's car. I made a dash for the gate with just my purse and lasted through the long weekend in Northern California borrowing necessities from my sister. It was entirely worth it.


The pictures I have posted are a condensed cataloguing of life since we parted in February, including a little bit of the art I was able to do (above, you simply see the view over my computer: two sketchy drawings, a coaster from a great brewery back home, and one of my favorite photos from London).


And if you made it this far, I do in fact have a recipe to recommend for you. It is from a little while ago, but I've been saving the photos and exaltations for the right time. Now is my opportunity to share an nontraditional green apple "chutney."

Borrowed from Jennifer at Milk and Cookies, I found a few slightly different uses for this tangy, spiced fruit condiment. Initially, I made it because I had whipped up some simple vegan "omelets" of carrots, onions, and zucchini mixed with garbanzo flour and water that just needed a little something extra. The next week I was having to do some scavenging for dinner and ended up with a bowl of roasted new potatoes topped with the spiced apples and a dollop of crème fraîche. It was so good I put off my trip to the grocery store and had the same thing for dinner the next night!

So, in consistency with my most recent method of posting recipes, I'm pointing you toward the link:
Spiced Green Apple.


*Here's a little note on why I have begun to post recipes like I do: I find most my inspiration for the kitchen online, and when I come across a recipe that is perfectly good as is, I feel like the most appropriate thing to do is point you toward where credit is due. I still enjoy being able to converse about great food and relay my successes (and failures). When I end up adapting a recipe or referring to a cookbook I will post the recipe directly on my site. So, when you scan my post for the recipe I am referring to, there will be a link, likely bolded, at the bottom of the page.

Willing to bargain curry for stain remover

Another week is over. Let's all breathe a sigh of relief, reward ourselves with a sliver of Lindt goodness, turn Feist on softly, and curl up on top of our duvet for a lazy nap.

This was the vision playing through my head a little bit ago, but as I headed for that rumpled, cozy duvet I stopped short and had to laugh/groan. A relatively big spot shone back at me in a hue suspiciously identical to my highlighter pen. The humor was found in envisioning, from a third-person perspective, the early hours of this morning, in which I dragged myself out of bed at 6:22 (after hitting snooze four times) to study for a quiz. My desk chair looked especially uncomfortable at that hour, so I splashed water on my face and propped my pillows up in bed with my book...and highlighter.

I recall being quite alert for a good half hour; then my eyelids started to shut. After fighting half-dreams and random thoughts like I wonder what time it is in New Zealand? I reset my alarm for eight o'clock.

It took until three in the afternoon for me to realized I had left the cap off my highlighter during my morning nap!

Oh dear. The repercussions of college life.

I love the whole college life thing, but I hate it. I hate the exhaustion, but I love the learning. I never want to stop learning. I know that's not a legitimate fear in the broader concept of "learning," but it's wonderful to have hundreds of classes at my fingertips. I don't want to be a full-time student for too much longer, but I want to be able to take French, Islamic history, poetry, gender studies, current issues of Timbuktu, and all subjects in between whenever I can.

I also want to continue living in community. Not in a bleak hall, dependent upon a cafeteria for "nourishment," as a freshman again, but with at least one housemate, a kitchen to share, and enough togetherness that the faulty smoke alarm and homely coffee table don't matter so much.

Currently our apartment possesses one such temperamental smoke alarm that insists upon chirping every five minutes (only new visitors notice it now), but that noise never stops May, June, and me from enjoying a good meal together. And last night it was a sweet, spicy, creamy coconut milk curry (those are six of my favorite words!).

Have I crooned about India yet on this blog? Well, if you know me, there's no need to say more, but if you are not familiar with my sentiments for this exotic, crowded, colorful, poor, joyful, caste-burdened country then you're in for a little explanation...

The funny thing is there is not really an explanation. Sure, my aunt and uncle have lived in Chennai for as long as I can remember. Sure, my mom has brought food into our home from all over the world, including India. But I've never been there. I've received sterling silver jewelry from Chennai since I was little. My brothers and dad traveled to India when I was in high school and brought back stories and pictures. But I've never been there. Visits from my aunt's family meant pirated Bollywood movies and authentic feasts with chapatis for silverware. (And that should turn an American off to Indian food right there! But it didn't.) And I still haven't actually been there.

Oh, do I ever want to go!

I thumb through every Indian cookbook I come across and have begun my own Bollywood collection and try very hard not to stereotype or put a glossy cover on all things Indian as I await my flight across the Pacific.

Last night I pulled out a new cookbook in honor of India and was so excited to try it. I didn't even realize how simple the recipe I had chosen was until I was through with the last step and asking myself, "That's it?"

Yes, that is it. Simple goodness. Don't question, just get a spoon, blow away the steam, and slurp.

Butternut Squash and Green Beans in a Coconut-Milk Curry
Adapted from 5 spices, 50 recipes, by Ruta Kahate



8 oz. butternut squash, peeled and chopped into 1-inch cubes
1/2 c. water
Salt
8 oz. green beans, trimmed and chopped into 1-inch pieces
1 c. canned coconut milk
2 T. canola oil
1/4 t. mustard seeds (preferably black or brown variety)
2 medium green serrano chiles, minced
3 tablespoons coarsly chopped cashews (I had almonds on hand and they worked wonderfully)

1. Cook the butternut squash in a saucepan with the 1/2 cup of water and pinch of salt. Once done, remove with a slotted spoon and place green beans in, adding water as necessary.

2. Return squash to the pan with beans and pour in coconut milk, adding more salt if desired. Allow curry to come to a boil and then immediately reduce to low. It will thicken slightly over the next 8-10 minutes.
*Ruta advises not to stir the pot during this time since squash may crumble, but you may shake the pan if you can't resist the urge or need to mix the ingredients.


3. Transfer curry to serving bowl(s) and make tadka: heat oil in a skillet on high until it just begins to smoke and then toss in mustard seeds and quickly place lid on top to avoid flying seeds and hot oil. (Confession: I burned my first batch because I let the oil get too hot.) Once the mustard seeds stop sputtering, add chiles and nuts and shake pan over medium heat until nuts are toasted and golden brown.

Pour tadka over curry and serve.

Makes 4 (modest) servings.

Procrastinator? Who, me?

I seem to have become a pro at being unproductive. Seriously, people, I'm starting to scare myself.

I can no longer point my finger at the mid-semester slump (in fact, did I make that whole idea up?). School is coming to a close very swiftly, and I'm anxious about the downward slide. Will I be able to keep up? The pace only seems to be picking up as I'm slowing down.

Where did this weekend go? I started doing homework Friday afternoon but was rescued by some friends who called in search of a pan for cheesecake. I answered their plea, and the three of us set out on a grand cheesecake-making/apple-eating endeavor.

My Saturday simply disappeared. A fifteen mile run in preparation for my marathon cut out four hours in the middle of the day, followed by an essential grocery store trip, granola-making for the week, dinner with June, and an early night in kind consideration of my exhausted, aching body.

Now it is Sunday night, and I have less than half of what I wish I had done this weekend accomplished. I wish I could just slow down time, but I know I'm not being the most efficient with what I do have either. I could take fewer study breaks; I could not be writing on this blog right now; I could have skipped making the pancakes I did this morning (though I certainly wouldn't have been doing schoolwork that early in the morning!) or any other time-consuming meals. "Time-consuming" is very relative, though, and putting in half an hour maximum for a good meal is very worth the minutes to me.

In my defense, I need study breaks to keep my vision from going fuzzy or my artwork from getting sloppy but should be more disciplined about them. I need to allow myself time to crazily type away at the keyboard and get my frustrations out. And I need yummy, nourishing food that stops me in my busy day and demands that I slow down and take in that which is around me and going into me.

Yesterday Highway 351 and cold soba noodles did that for me. Two friends and I jogged out nine miles, across two county lines, encountering nothing but simple homes, mostly-brown fields, and the occasional horse. The plan was to do eighteen miles, but as I hit about fourteen my nagging injury from high school cross country flared up and after another mile I made the decision to stop and walk the rest of the way. Being forced to slow down also compelled me to more fully take in the scenery around me. Those houses had character. Some of those fields stood out from the rest in the most brilliant of greens. And those small mesquite trees were indeed a precious few, often only one to a pasture. I love being surprised by beauty.

Some other beauties from this weekend are, suitably, food related. The soba noodles I mentioned above were June's, and to sit across from each other with chopsticks in hand, a bowl of broth to ourselves, and a larger bowl piled with noodles in between and feast across cultures and languages and lives was entirely rewarding.

This morning my family recipe for whole wheat pancakes brought May, June, and me together again. Lunch was eaten on my own, but as I gazed out the window and slowly bit down on each soft piece of gnocchi flavored with a basic cream and blue cheese sauce I was able to sigh in gratitude for a sun-filled day and bountiful fridge.

My point in writing this post was not simply to procrastinate further but to express my frustrations and ultimately remember all the good that I'm still being given in my life, even if I'll pay the consequences for being less productive this weekend with fewer sleeping hours in the coming days.

So it goes...I'm still learning and relearning and will continue to do so for the rest of my life.

Monday is almost here - I've got nineteen more minutes - and before I call it a night, I plan to get some poetry reading done I should have completed hours ago.

I hope you find peace in this coming week.