I received my new KitchenAid Mixer yesterday, courtesy of my wonderful mother! I am very excited about this, as it's an item I have been coveting for a very long time. And I know it's going to help me tremendously in my pumpkin bread production.
However, I have some anxiety about it. Will my bread have as much love in it with the flick of a switch, as opposed to the turn of a spoon? Will it taste as good having been mixed by a machine? There's a lot I think about, and a lot of memories come flooding in when I've got one arm wrapped around a mixing bowl, and one wrestling with the contents, stirring, smushing, melding. The muscles in my arms tire with the effort, but I think I'm gonna miss that.
My Grandma had a mixer, and that's when I first wanted one...way back when... And now I've got one. But, the majority of the time we baked together, we stood over bowls bigger than me. With wooden spoons in our grip, laughing, talking, stirring silently sometimes, thinking, dreaming, humming, hoping. I hope I'm not abandoning something. I hope I'm not losing anything. I hope I don't forget.
Showing posts with label pumpkin bread. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pumpkin bread. Show all posts
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Poker - Entertainment or Work?
Sometimes I think I go to work purely for the entertainment of it all.
Though it was quite slow for the first half of the day, there was something interesting happening during every hour.
10:00am-11:00am - Julio, my favorite bald, Cuban poker dealer and I sit around for a few minutes before the tournament starts (late) and he tells me that Mr. P. has been fired. Surveillance finally caught him sleeping at the poker tables during the day. Then the tournament starts. There are some new players and some old players. Tantrum Doug is there - and almost throws a fit because he starts out losing. Then he ends up winning second place in the tournament and leaves smiling and happy and not throwing anything.
11:00am-12:00noon - The tournament is over, and no one stayed to play a live-action (cash) game, so Julio and I, and Steve the floorman, sit around and chat some more. Steve looks remarkably like the main guy on "Revenge of the Nerds" and I like that. I text back and forth with my cousin, Aimee while Julio rambles on about the good ol' days. And Steve mostly just listens and laughs once in a while. We talk about Mr. P. for a few minutes, and Steve says it's "final", meaning no second chances. There's almost always a second chance here. They should call it Second Chance City instead of Sin City. But I guess Mr. P.'s sins outweighed his chances this time around.
12:00noon-1:00pm - I get bored so I go out to smoke, but stop in A.J.'s department first to say 'hi'. He looks like his dog died. I ask him what's the matter and he says he doesn't know. He says he thinks he's depressed. He asks me where I was Saturday night. That was over a week ago and I can't remember. I say I must've gone to the store or something. He says I wasn't home, my car wasn't there. And he asks in a very prying, jealous, disappointed way. And I'm supposed to think everything's alright with that. I smile and say I don't remember where I was, hmmm...Saturday... He lowers his head and says he should've just called me. I tell him that would've been a good idea. He comes in the poker room a bit later and creeps up behind me. Then sits two seats away from me and plays with his phone for a few minutes. I wonder if he's texting me while I'm sitting two feet from him because he likes to do strange shit like that, but he's not. Then he leaves.
1:00pm-2:00pm - I go outside to smoke again, and a lot of the regular smokers are there. The lovely banquet lady who's as sweet as pie. A couple of food server people, the Liberace-gay black guy with the camel boots and camel suit and loud, loud voice. And the Phillipino kid with one eye is there too. I say hello to everyone. No matter how many times I see that kid and his crazy face, I can't get over it. And it makes me feel bad. Something terrible must've happened to him, I'm sure. But it's not like he just doesn't have an eye. Whoever fixed him up after he lost that eye had to pull some face skin up over it and covered the whole area up completely. No eye, no eyebrow, no hint of an eye ever being there. It's freaky. And I'm shallow. I text A.J. that I wonder if he is busy tonight, and if not, is he going to come by my place and say 'hi'. I go back in to the poker game that just started and begin to actually work for the day.
Vinny and her large arms are there. Her husband is playing too - yikes - he stresses me out when he plays. Constant, and I mean constant - I don't even think he breathes - chatter, mumblings under his breath about how horrible the game is for him. Even when he wins, it wasn't a big enough pot, or he thought so much that he was gonna lose that the shock of winning is even a bad thing. There are also four other players, one of which is a large elderly man who reeks like parmesan cheese and hospital cleaner, and when he gets up, it's like a cloud of vomit-antiseptic explodes all around us.
2:00pm-3:00pm - The big-hair lady I had seen wandering outside the poker room earlier decides to play cards with us. I had thought it was a wig, but it wasn't. Big, thick, wavy, bobbed black hair on a slender woman in or around her early 70's. She drew the short stick and had to sit by the drunken pervert loudmouth in the middle of the table. Her name was Marilyn - and the drunken loudmouth let everyone know that, though I think she would have preferred to go unknown, incognito. A.J. comes back in the poker room for visit #2, but I'm dealing, so he paces back and forth in front of the table a few times, stares at me for a few minutes from every angle of the table, then walks out of the room staring behind him, at me, still.
3:00pm-4:00pm - I go on break one last time and check my phone for an answer to my text. There isn't one. There won't be one.
4:00pm-5:00pm - Jason, the swing-shift floorman comes on duty and begins watching everything like a hawk. He's good at that. And no one is ever going to accuse HIM of sleeping on the job. He catches me writing a note on my hand while I'm still dealing cards at the table, takes my pen away, and whispers in my ear what a horrible offense I have just committed. I laugh and laugh and say it was important. I had to remember to bake Julio's pumpkin bread tonight, I didn't want to forget.
5:00pm-6:00pm - I'm actually working this entire hour - it's a miracle. And it kind of is. Because I end the day making $110 in tokes (tips) and thought for sure I wouldn't even break $40 for the day. I stop on my way out to chat with Nadine and Syble, my two favorite old-lady-poker-sisters. I tell them about my pumpkin bread and they want to buy some. Yey for me! We exchange hugs and short stories and phone numbers. And then I'm free.
Whether it's for entertainment, or for cash in my pocket, I go to work. But somehow I think maybe there's more to the story. And I dream about some of these people weeks after I've met them. I'm a poker player, maybe that's why. On one of my breaks, a buffet server guys said to me: "poker people are a strange, quiet little group". And, except when they're drunk, I think he's right.
Though it was quite slow for the first half of the day, there was something interesting happening during every hour.
10:00am-11:00am - Julio, my favorite bald, Cuban poker dealer and I sit around for a few minutes before the tournament starts (late) and he tells me that Mr. P. has been fired. Surveillance finally caught him sleeping at the poker tables during the day. Then the tournament starts. There are some new players and some old players. Tantrum Doug is there - and almost throws a fit because he starts out losing. Then he ends up winning second place in the tournament and leaves smiling and happy and not throwing anything.
11:00am-12:00noon - The tournament is over, and no one stayed to play a live-action (cash) game, so Julio and I, and Steve the floorman, sit around and chat some more. Steve looks remarkably like the main guy on "Revenge of the Nerds" and I like that. I text back and forth with my cousin, Aimee while Julio rambles on about the good ol' days. And Steve mostly just listens and laughs once in a while. We talk about Mr. P. for a few minutes, and Steve says it's "final", meaning no second chances. There's almost always a second chance here. They should call it Second Chance City instead of Sin City. But I guess Mr. P.'s sins outweighed his chances this time around.
12:00noon-1:00pm - I get bored so I go out to smoke, but stop in A.J.'s department first to say 'hi'. He looks like his dog died. I ask him what's the matter and he says he doesn't know. He says he thinks he's depressed. He asks me where I was Saturday night. That was over a week ago and I can't remember. I say I must've gone to the store or something. He says I wasn't home, my car wasn't there. And he asks in a very prying, jealous, disappointed way. And I'm supposed to think everything's alright with that. I smile and say I don't remember where I was, hmmm...Saturday... He lowers his head and says he should've just called me. I tell him that would've been a good idea. He comes in the poker room a bit later and creeps up behind me. Then sits two seats away from me and plays with his phone for a few minutes. I wonder if he's texting me while I'm sitting two feet from him because he likes to do strange shit like that, but he's not. Then he leaves.
1:00pm-2:00pm - I go outside to smoke again, and a lot of the regular smokers are there. The lovely banquet lady who's as sweet as pie. A couple of food server people, the Liberace-gay black guy with the camel boots and camel suit and loud, loud voice. And the Phillipino kid with one eye is there too. I say hello to everyone. No matter how many times I see that kid and his crazy face, I can't get over it. And it makes me feel bad. Something terrible must've happened to him, I'm sure. But it's not like he just doesn't have an eye. Whoever fixed him up after he lost that eye had to pull some face skin up over it and covered the whole area up completely. No eye, no eyebrow, no hint of an eye ever being there. It's freaky. And I'm shallow. I text A.J. that I wonder if he is busy tonight, and if not, is he going to come by my place and say 'hi'. I go back in to the poker game that just started and begin to actually work for the day.
Vinny and her large arms are there. Her husband is playing too - yikes - he stresses me out when he plays. Constant, and I mean constant - I don't even think he breathes - chatter, mumblings under his breath about how horrible the game is for him. Even when he wins, it wasn't a big enough pot, or he thought so much that he was gonna lose that the shock of winning is even a bad thing. There are also four other players, one of which is a large elderly man who reeks like parmesan cheese and hospital cleaner, and when he gets up, it's like a cloud of vomit-antiseptic explodes all around us.
2:00pm-3:00pm - The big-hair lady I had seen wandering outside the poker room earlier decides to play cards with us. I had thought it was a wig, but it wasn't. Big, thick, wavy, bobbed black hair on a slender woman in or around her early 70's. She drew the short stick and had to sit by the drunken pervert loudmouth in the middle of the table. Her name was Marilyn - and the drunken loudmouth let everyone know that, though I think she would have preferred to go unknown, incognito. A.J. comes back in the poker room for visit #2, but I'm dealing, so he paces back and forth in front of the table a few times, stares at me for a few minutes from every angle of the table, then walks out of the room staring behind him, at me, still.
3:00pm-4:00pm - I go on break one last time and check my phone for an answer to my text. There isn't one. There won't be one.
4:00pm-5:00pm - Jason, the swing-shift floorman comes on duty and begins watching everything like a hawk. He's good at that. And no one is ever going to accuse HIM of sleeping on the job. He catches me writing a note on my hand while I'm still dealing cards at the table, takes my pen away, and whispers in my ear what a horrible offense I have just committed. I laugh and laugh and say it was important. I had to remember to bake Julio's pumpkin bread tonight, I didn't want to forget.
5:00pm-6:00pm - I'm actually working this entire hour - it's a miracle. And it kind of is. Because I end the day making $110 in tokes (tips) and thought for sure I wouldn't even break $40 for the day. I stop on my way out to chat with Nadine and Syble, my two favorite old-lady-poker-sisters. I tell them about my pumpkin bread and they want to buy some. Yey for me! We exchange hugs and short stories and phone numbers. And then I'm free.
Whether it's for entertainment, or for cash in my pocket, I go to work. But somehow I think maybe there's more to the story. And I dream about some of these people weeks after I've met them. I'm a poker player, maybe that's why. On one of my breaks, a buffet server guys said to me: "poker people are a strange, quiet little group". And, except when they're drunk, I think he's right.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
32 Things - A Reminder
Well, as my brain's swirling with all things "pumpkin bread", I have lost sight of my "32 Things" list a bit. I did attempt some stretches the other day, but no exercise lol - unless you call walking to the apartment office to mail pumpkin bread exercise lol. I haven't been on any dates. I haven't seen a movie or taken any photographs. Apparently, I'm just a big slacker! But I've still got a little under 9 months to get it all done - and this pumpkin bread stuff is just way too fun!
Anyway, as a reminder to myself, and perhaps to everyone else (who can help me keep on track), I am reposting my original "32 Things" blog today:
Recently, my Mom turned 60 years old. We talked about starting a blog and I suggested she write a list of 60 things she wanted to do as a 60-year-old. I took my own advice and made a list of 32 things I want to do as a 32-year-old. It's in no particular order, but I plan on trying to achieve them all during the nine remaining months of my 32nd year of life. Here's the list:
1. Lose 32 pounds
2. Read a book a month
3. Start my pumpkin bread business - DONE 10/17/09 YEY!!!
4. Quit smoking
5. See the Grand Canyon
6. Get a massage at least once a month
7. Do a fundraiser
8. Pay off 2 personal debts
9. Attempt to publish a poem I wrote into a children's book
10. Stretch 5 times a week
11. Clean my fish tank
12. Plan a trip to Norway to meet my brother Geir
13. Go on 10 dates
14. Write a cookbook for single people
15. Create a blog - DONE 10/14/09 :)
16. Plan a friend retreat with my 10 closest friends
17. Take artistic photos once a month
18. Start painting again
19. Write an article for a poker magazine
20. Play one poker tournament a month
21. Do NaNoWriMo
22. Buy a house
23. Rebuild my credit
24. Learn yoga
25. Learn how to dance
26. Take a class
27. Exercise 3 times a week
28. Go to a movie bimonthly
29. Try a new food each month
30. Start writing a book
31. Explore Las Vegas bimonthly
32. Have lunch with Oprah and chat about life
Anyway, as a reminder to myself, and perhaps to everyone else (who can help me keep on track), I am reposting my original "32 Things" blog today:
Recently, my Mom turned 60 years old. We talked about starting a blog and I suggested she write a list of 60 things she wanted to do as a 60-year-old. I took my own advice and made a list of 32 things I want to do as a 32-year-old. It's in no particular order, but I plan on trying to achieve them all during the nine remaining months of my 32nd year of life. Here's the list:
1. Lose 32 pounds
2. Read a book a month
3. Start my pumpkin bread business - DONE 10/17/09 YEY!!!
4. Quit smoking
5. See the Grand Canyon
6. Get a massage at least once a month
7. Do a fundraiser
8. Pay off 2 personal debts
9. Attempt to publish a poem I wrote into a children's book
10. Stretch 5 times a week
11. Clean my fish tank
12. Plan a trip to Norway to meet my brother Geir
13. Go on 10 dates
14. Write a cookbook for single people
15. Create a blog - DONE 10/14/09 :)
16. Plan a friend retreat with my 10 closest friends
17. Take artistic photos once a month
18. Start painting again
19. Write an article for a poker magazine
20. Play one poker tournament a month
21. Do NaNoWriMo
22. Buy a house
23. Rebuild my credit
24. Learn yoga
25. Learn how to dance
26. Take a class
27. Exercise 3 times a week
28. Go to a movie bimonthly
29. Try a new food each month
30. Start writing a book
31. Explore Las Vegas bimonthly
32. Have lunch with Oprah and chat about life
Friday, October 23, 2009
Love Baking
My house smells like pumpkin bread every day now.
Baking means more than mixing up ingredients and putting them in the oven. Baking, for me, is the essence of my Grandma wafting through the air, tickling my memory, and turning my face happy no matter what else is on my mind.
My Grandma passed away when I was 10 years old. There are only two things I regret about the time we spent together. I remember clearly being at her house, I must've been around 8 years old at the time. We were in the living room, watching "The Price Is Right" and relaxing. For some reason, we got in a fight. I wanted something and she wouldn't let me have it. I don't even remember what it was, but I remember distinctly what happened next. I yelled at her and told her I hated her, then stormed out of the living room. Moments later, realizing the mistake I made, I peeked around the corner, afraid. Afraid of a spanking, afraid of what I imagined would be a very angry Grandma, awaiting my return with punishment ready. What I saw instead, was my Grandma crying. A punishment that fit the crime.
At her funeral, my cousin Brad and I got in trouble. There was this man singing some sort of operatic ballad and it tore us up. We started giggling and couldn't stop. We were chasing each other around the somber crowd as if it was a carnival, not a funeral. When I apologized later, my Mom said it was okay, that everyone deals with death differently. But it wasn't okay. The only chance I had to pay my respects, I was laughing instead.
Most of my memories with my Grandma are in the kitchen. We baked pies, and breads, and cakes. We made applesauce at the old porcelain sink, watching my Grandpa and the boys through the window, bringing down apples from the orchard and grinding them into cider. We picked blackberries along the drive for pies and jams. We made sandwiches and tea for all the men working on some thing or another. My Grandma took me to the dentist for the first time and bought me a hamburger and ice cream right after. We used to go shopping at the thrift stores to find treasures.
And my Grandma took me with her to put together and deliver food to the elderly for "Meals on Wheels". What a grand adventure! We put together the meals at the old Grange Hall in Scio, a million women in the kitchen, slinging cornbread and mashed potatoes and meatloaf and green beans. The heat and energy there was mesmerizing. We loaded up Grandma's old red pickup truck and headed out for deliveries. At the first house, Grandma made me deliver the food by myself. A very old woman with hollow, wet eyes answered the door. I was instantly sad for her. I told her I had a meal for her, and the styrofoam box grew heavy in my hands. She told me she didn't really eat much these days, handed me a check for $4.00, and asked if I would come in and look at something. In that moment, fear and compassion were pulling me in two very different directions. I looked in the house, looked out at Grandma in the truck, looked at this sad, sad woman, and went inside. The hot food was burning my hands and I set it down, at last, on a corner of her coffee table. The rest of the table was covered in old photos.
"This is my daughter," the old woman said, holding up a photo of a brunette about my age. "I don't see her any more. And these are my boys...they haven't been up to see me in more than...well, seven years I guess." She went silent and still.
"There's meatloaf and mashed potatoes in there," I say, because I don't know what else to do. And I just want to leave this sad, smelly place.
"Oh, I don't eat much, really." I open the box and steam flushes out. I take the plastic fork and knife and cut a piece of meatloaf and dip it in the potatoes.
"You should try a bite...it looks really good." I move the bite towards her and she closes her eyes, opens her mouth, and lets me feed her.
When her eyes open again, a tear comes sliding out and down her cheek. The hollowness has disappeared and I see her children dancing there, laughing, playing.
My Grandma came through the door, told me we need to get to the rest of the deliveries, told the woman to make sure and eat every bite, and before I know it we were back in the truck. Though I am usually full of things to say, we drove on in complete silence for what seemed like a very long time until we got to the next stop on our delivery list.
That next stop came as quite a surprise, as Grandma liked to drive fast, and almost missed the turn-in to a very strange place.
"Hold on!" Grandma reached across the seat to hold me in, slammed on her breaks, cut in front of a rather large truck, and skidded to a stop in a dirt turn-around nearly covered in blackberry bushes.
"Geesh, Grandma! What is this place? Does someone actually live here?" There was a very small trailer, covered in blackberry bushes with newspapers stacked from the ground to the top of the trailer, all the way around it.
"Hello Ma'am, Missus," a little crooked man had come out from somewhere in the tangles of that trailer to greet us. Grandma and I got out of the truck and said hello. I handed him his meal and he smiled, sort of. Is it still considered a smile if you only have three teeth? I wondered. "Thank you, Missus, just you wait here a sec, I've got something for you." He disappeared into the tangles once again, and came out with two full bags of newspapers which he set at my feet.
"What's this?" I asked, totally confused.
"It's all I got." He hung his head and turned up his palms. "Here, lemme bring some more for you," and he turned to go back to the trailer.
"No, no, this'll be just fantastic!" Grandma chimed. "You wanna save some for next time, right?" She smiled at him as he turned back to us, and he nodded in agreement. We all looked around then, at the thousands of newspapers piled everywhere, and got the giggles. My Grandma gave him a hug, whispered something in his ear, and once again, we were down the road.
On our last delivery, we came down a long, rutted road that bumped and rattled us for what seemed like miles. A ginormous mansion sat at the end, and I thought 'who could possibly need food that owns a house as big as this'? A very bouncy woman with long, wild, silver hair rushed out to meet us in the drive. My Grandma jumped from the truck and embraced her as if they were old friends reuniting, and they hugged and talked and held hands and walked. And I was forgotten, and meals were forgotten.
On my own in this wonderous place, I wandered around and looked at everything. The house was huge, but looked as if it was held up by a string. It was the color of this woman's hair, grey and black, and would make a good haunted house for Halloween. There were chickens running around all over the place. The property was lush and green, damp and secret. It was a treasure, not found at a thrift store, but at the end of a very bumpy road. I found a black and orange caterpillar on the ground and picked it up. Usually they curl up in a ball, afraid they'll be eaten. But it just crawled around on my hand and arm like I was part of the terrain. Maybe it knew that nothing could be harmed in this place. Maybe it knew it lived in wonderland.
Grandma finally came back to the truck with Millie - the smiley, wild woman - who was carrying five flats of fresh eggs. I don't know how we ever made it back down that road without breaking one of them.
I hope these days, that my Grandma knows I didn't hate her, and that I don't hate anything. I hope these days that my Grandma can see me happy, see me baking, and feel my respect. And I know, true in my heart, that her hand is on mine with every stir of the spoon. That I can hear her absently humming in the kitchen while I bake. That love is the most important ingredient in any confection. And that she taught me how the smell of love baking lingers long after the crumbs have been wiped away.
Baking means more than mixing up ingredients and putting them in the oven. Baking, for me, is the essence of my Grandma wafting through the air, tickling my memory, and turning my face happy no matter what else is on my mind.
My Grandma passed away when I was 10 years old. There are only two things I regret about the time we spent together. I remember clearly being at her house, I must've been around 8 years old at the time. We were in the living room, watching "The Price Is Right" and relaxing. For some reason, we got in a fight. I wanted something and she wouldn't let me have it. I don't even remember what it was, but I remember distinctly what happened next. I yelled at her and told her I hated her, then stormed out of the living room. Moments later, realizing the mistake I made, I peeked around the corner, afraid. Afraid of a spanking, afraid of what I imagined would be a very angry Grandma, awaiting my return with punishment ready. What I saw instead, was my Grandma crying. A punishment that fit the crime.
At her funeral, my cousin Brad and I got in trouble. There was this man singing some sort of operatic ballad and it tore us up. We started giggling and couldn't stop. We were chasing each other around the somber crowd as if it was a carnival, not a funeral. When I apologized later, my Mom said it was okay, that everyone deals with death differently. But it wasn't okay. The only chance I had to pay my respects, I was laughing instead.
Most of my memories with my Grandma are in the kitchen. We baked pies, and breads, and cakes. We made applesauce at the old porcelain sink, watching my Grandpa and the boys through the window, bringing down apples from the orchard and grinding them into cider. We picked blackberries along the drive for pies and jams. We made sandwiches and tea for all the men working on some thing or another. My Grandma took me to the dentist for the first time and bought me a hamburger and ice cream right after. We used to go shopping at the thrift stores to find treasures.
And my Grandma took me with her to put together and deliver food to the elderly for "Meals on Wheels". What a grand adventure! We put together the meals at the old Grange Hall in Scio, a million women in the kitchen, slinging cornbread and mashed potatoes and meatloaf and green beans. The heat and energy there was mesmerizing. We loaded up Grandma's old red pickup truck and headed out for deliveries. At the first house, Grandma made me deliver the food by myself. A very old woman with hollow, wet eyes answered the door. I was instantly sad for her. I told her I had a meal for her, and the styrofoam box grew heavy in my hands. She told me she didn't really eat much these days, handed me a check for $4.00, and asked if I would come in and look at something. In that moment, fear and compassion were pulling me in two very different directions. I looked in the house, looked out at Grandma in the truck, looked at this sad, sad woman, and went inside. The hot food was burning my hands and I set it down, at last, on a corner of her coffee table. The rest of the table was covered in old photos.
"This is my daughter," the old woman said, holding up a photo of a brunette about my age. "I don't see her any more. And these are my boys...they haven't been up to see me in more than...well, seven years I guess." She went silent and still.
"There's meatloaf and mashed potatoes in there," I say, because I don't know what else to do. And I just want to leave this sad, smelly place.
"Oh, I don't eat much, really." I open the box and steam flushes out. I take the plastic fork and knife and cut a piece of meatloaf and dip it in the potatoes.
"You should try a bite...it looks really good." I move the bite towards her and she closes her eyes, opens her mouth, and lets me feed her.
When her eyes open again, a tear comes sliding out and down her cheek. The hollowness has disappeared and I see her children dancing there, laughing, playing.
My Grandma came through the door, told me we need to get to the rest of the deliveries, told the woman to make sure and eat every bite, and before I know it we were back in the truck. Though I am usually full of things to say, we drove on in complete silence for what seemed like a very long time until we got to the next stop on our delivery list.
That next stop came as quite a surprise, as Grandma liked to drive fast, and almost missed the turn-in to a very strange place.
"Hold on!" Grandma reached across the seat to hold me in, slammed on her breaks, cut in front of a rather large truck, and skidded to a stop in a dirt turn-around nearly covered in blackberry bushes.
"Geesh, Grandma! What is this place? Does someone actually live here?" There was a very small trailer, covered in blackberry bushes with newspapers stacked from the ground to the top of the trailer, all the way around it.
"Hello Ma'am, Missus," a little crooked man had come out from somewhere in the tangles of that trailer to greet us. Grandma and I got out of the truck and said hello. I handed him his meal and he smiled, sort of. Is it still considered a smile if you only have three teeth? I wondered. "Thank you, Missus, just you wait here a sec, I've got something for you." He disappeared into the tangles once again, and came out with two full bags of newspapers which he set at my feet.
"What's this?" I asked, totally confused.
"It's all I got." He hung his head and turned up his palms. "Here, lemme bring some more for you," and he turned to go back to the trailer.
"No, no, this'll be just fantastic!" Grandma chimed. "You wanna save some for next time, right?" She smiled at him as he turned back to us, and he nodded in agreement. We all looked around then, at the thousands of newspapers piled everywhere, and got the giggles. My Grandma gave him a hug, whispered something in his ear, and once again, we were down the road.
On our last delivery, we came down a long, rutted road that bumped and rattled us for what seemed like miles. A ginormous mansion sat at the end, and I thought 'who could possibly need food that owns a house as big as this'? A very bouncy woman with long, wild, silver hair rushed out to meet us in the drive. My Grandma jumped from the truck and embraced her as if they were old friends reuniting, and they hugged and talked and held hands and walked. And I was forgotten, and meals were forgotten.
On my own in this wonderous place, I wandered around and looked at everything. The house was huge, but looked as if it was held up by a string. It was the color of this woman's hair, grey and black, and would make a good haunted house for Halloween. There were chickens running around all over the place. The property was lush and green, damp and secret. It was a treasure, not found at a thrift store, but at the end of a very bumpy road. I found a black and orange caterpillar on the ground and picked it up. Usually they curl up in a ball, afraid they'll be eaten. But it just crawled around on my hand and arm like I was part of the terrain. Maybe it knew that nothing could be harmed in this place. Maybe it knew it lived in wonderland.
Grandma finally came back to the truck with Millie - the smiley, wild woman - who was carrying five flats of fresh eggs. I don't know how we ever made it back down that road without breaking one of them.
I hope these days, that my Grandma knows I didn't hate her, and that I don't hate anything. I hope these days that my Grandma can see me happy, see me baking, and feel my respect. And I know, true in my heart, that her hand is on mine with every stir of the spoon. That I can hear her absently humming in the kitchen while I bake. That love is the most important ingredient in any confection. And that she taught me how the smell of love baking lingers long after the crumbs have been wiped away.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Thank You!
I need to stop a moment to say "Thanks" to a few folks...
To L.B. at paradiseknitting.etsy.com for featuring me and my pumpkin bread in her blog, topetsyfinds.blogspot.com which highlights "Top Etsy Finds" she searches out. An altogether altruistic and sweet woman, she also was the first to donate to my "32 Things" fund. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
To J.O. at joshark04.etsy.com for being my very first out-of-state pumpkin bread buyer! Wahoo! Thank you!
And to my Mom who is one of my #1 fans. Beside being a source of constant encouragement, support, and premier editing help, she has graciously ordered me up a vacuum-sealer and a Kitchenaid mixer for supreme pumpkin bread production efficiency!
Lastly, to my brother Scott, who is my other #1 fan. Also an encouraging force who has been supportive in many ways, including helping to pick out the perfect pumpkin bread mugshot.
To everyone else, from Facebook, Myspace, and beyond...I'm not for a moment forgetting how wonderful and supportive you all have been this week. It's truly amazing that only 6 days ago I started this blog and since then; a business (with profit already!), new friendships, and new hopes, and new dreams, and new purpose.
To L.B. at paradiseknitting.etsy.com for featuring me and my pumpkin bread in her blog, topetsyfinds.blogspot.com which highlights "Top Etsy Finds" she searches out. An altogether altruistic and sweet woman, she also was the first to donate to my "32 Things" fund. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
To J.O. at joshark04.etsy.com for being my very first out-of-state pumpkin bread buyer! Wahoo! Thank you!
And to my Mom who is one of my #1 fans. Beside being a source of constant encouragement, support, and premier editing help, she has graciously ordered me up a vacuum-sealer and a Kitchenaid mixer for supreme pumpkin bread production efficiency!
Lastly, to my brother Scott, who is my other #1 fan. Also an encouraging force who has been supportive in many ways, including helping to pick out the perfect pumpkin bread mugshot.
To everyone else, from Facebook, Myspace, and beyond...I'm not for a moment forgetting how wonderful and supportive you all have been this week. It's truly amazing that only 6 days ago I started this blog and since then; a business (with profit already!), new friendships, and new hopes, and new dreams, and new purpose.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
PUMPKIN BREAD - #3 on the "List"
Well, everyone, I did it!!
I just started my pumpkin bread business!!! It is #3 on my "32 Things" list, and I've done it! I have my bread for sale now on Etsy at jewelofthelion.etsy.com. Soooo excited!!
It's quite possibly the yummiest tasty treat EVER and I would love for you all to enjoy some, so get shoppin'! :)
Thanks everyone for your support and encouragement! This is just wonderful!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
32 Things
Recently, my Mom turned 60 years old. We talked about starting a blog and I suggested she write a list of 60 things she wanted to do as a 60-year-old. I took my own advice and made a list of 32 things I want to do as a 32-year-old. It's in no particular order, but I plan on trying to achieve them all during the nine remaining months of my 32nd year of life. Here's the list:
1. Lose 32 pounds
2. Read a book a month
3. Start my pumpkin bread business - DONE 10/17/09 YEY!!!
4. Quit smoking
5. See the Grand Canyon
6. Get a massage at least once a month - got one in Newport! (Dec. '09)
7. Do a fundraiser
8. Pay off 2 personal debts
9. Attempt to publish a poem I wrote into a children's book
10. Stretch 5 times a week
11. Clean my fish tank
12. Plan a trip to Norway to meet my brother Geir - in the works 1/8/09
13. Go on 10 dates - wouldn't call 'em dates, but....workin' on it ;) 1/8/09
14. Write a cookbook for single people
15. Create a blog - DONE 10/14/09 :)
16. Plan a friend retreat with my 10 closest friends
17. Take artistic photos once a month
18. Start painting again
19. Write an article for a poker magazine
20. Play one poker tournament a month
21. Do NaNoWriMo - Completed, 50217 words in 30 days! 11/1/09-11/30/09!!
22. Buy a house
23. Rebuild my credit
24. Learn yoga
25. Learn how to dance
26. Take a class
27. Exercise 3 times a week
28. Go to a movie bimonthly
29. Try a new food each month
30. Start writing a book - wrote one for NaNoWriMo in November '09 - does that count??
31. Explore Las Vegas bimonthly
32. Have lunch with Oprah and chat about life
1. Lose 32 pounds
2. Read a book a month
3. Start my pumpkin bread business - DONE 10/17/09 YEY!!!
4. Quit smoking
5. See the Grand Canyon
6. Get a massage at least once a month - got one in Newport! (Dec. '09)
7. Do a fundraiser
8. Pay off 2 personal debts
9. Attempt to publish a poem I wrote into a children's book
10. Stretch 5 times a week
11. Clean my fish tank
12. Plan a trip to Norway to meet my brother Geir - in the works 1/8/09
13. Go on 10 dates - wouldn't call 'em dates, but....workin' on it ;) 1/8/09
14. Write a cookbook for single people
15. Create a blog - DONE 10/14/09 :)
16. Plan a friend retreat with my 10 closest friends
17. Take artistic photos once a month
18. Start painting again
19. Write an article for a poker magazine
20. Play one poker tournament a month
21. Do NaNoWriMo - Completed, 50217 words in 30 days! 11/1/09-11/30/09!!
22. Buy a house
23. Rebuild my credit
24. Learn yoga
25. Learn how to dance
26. Take a class
27. Exercise 3 times a week
28. Go to a movie bimonthly
29. Try a new food each month
30. Start writing a book - wrote one for NaNoWriMo in November '09 - does that count??
31. Explore Las Vegas bimonthly
32. Have lunch with Oprah and chat about life
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Aunt Helen's Pumpkin Bread - FOUR (4) LOAVES - ON SALE NOW!!
