Intentional Weekend: Farmer's Market

Steamy Saturday morning,

 children carried along on the promise of apple cinnamon bread for breakfast when we return home, 

gathering supper from the hands that grew it.

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1/2 onion, minced

2 large garlic cloves, minced

2 ounces pancetta (or we substitute nitrate-free bacon)

1 pound ripe plum tomatoes, peeled and diced (we substitute two pints sungold tomatoes, halved but not peeled)

1/4 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes

1/4 pound Japanese or Italian eggplant, unpeeled in a neat 1/4 inch dice.

1/2 red bell pepper, seeds and ribs removed, in neat 1/4 inch dice

1/4 pound zucchini, in neat 1/4 inch dice

salt to taste

1 pound dried fusilli

2/3 cup freshly grated romano cheese

Heat olive oil in a 12 inch skillet over moderately low heat. Add onion and arlic and saute until onion is soft, 8-10 minutes. Add pancetta and saute until it renders some of its fat, about 3 minutes, then add tomatoes and hot pepper flakes. Raise heat to moderately high and cook, stirring often, until tomatoes collapse and begin to form a sauce, about 10 minutes. Add eggplant, bell pepper, and zucchini. Season with salt. Saute 3 minutes. Add 1/2 cup water, cover, readuce heat to maintain a bare simmer and cook until vegetables are tender, about 10 minutes. Check occasionally and add more water if needed to achieve a saucelike consistency. Uncover, taste, and adjust seasoning.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add pasta and cook until al dente. Drain. Transfer to a warm bowl. Add sauce and cheese and toss well. Serve immediately.

Makes 4-6 servings. If you have a big enough pot, this recipe doubles or triples well.

From Fresh from the Farmer's Market

Intentional Weekend: Fields of Treasure and Jewel-Colored Glasses

 

 

Strawberry season is long past and I just downloaded pictures from my camera. Alas, no pictures of jewel-colored jam. All good, we're moving on to blueberries and peaches.We'll have jewel-colored glasses in short order.

I do, however, have an awesome pie recipe that works well with blueberries and even peaches (add a little cinnamon). Below, I tossed a few peaches in with the strawberries. I like to play with this recipe. It's forgiving and if it doesn't quite hold together, no one ever seems to mind.

Baked Pie Shell

1 quart fresh strawberries or blueberries

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup water (plus some extra for the cornstarch)

3 Tbsp cornstarch

1 Tbsp lemon juice

whipped cream

• For strawberry pie, fill pie shell with 3 cups strawberries. (I slice them in half.)
• Crush 1 cup berries in pot. Add sugar and water and bring to a boil. Remove from heat.
• Mix cornstarch with a little cold water and whisk slowly into berry mixture. Cook until clear and thickened.
• Remove from heat. Add lemon juice.
• For strawberry pie, pour glaze over filled pie shell. For blueberry pie, pour 3 cups blueberries into glaze and stir until coated, then pour into pie shell.
• Chill and serve with whipped cream.

{The original recipe came from my friend Barbara who is currently experimenting further with fruit pies.}

Our two favorite farms are Hartland Orchard in Markham, Virginia and Homestead Farm (over the Potomac from Leesburg via ferry) in Poolesville, Maryland. We're in Charlottesville this weekend. Picking is good at Carter Mountain Orchard and, towards Crozet, Chiles Peach Orchard. 

Happy weekend! Go do something intentional:-)

A Bit O' Green

 
Kind of a mellow day here today. We're recovering from what was a totally not mellow yesterday.  A couple of days ago, I posted this to my Facebook page:

The sweater I'm knitting says it's "super quick to knit" and "will only take a weekend to knit one up." I'm thinking that the writer knows nothing of my knitting ability or my weekends:-). I'm praying--seriously praying--I can finish in time for Sarah to wear on Easter.

Yesterday morning, I got up, worked out, had an hour solid of time with my Lenten reading and my knitting, and then had time to blog this. 

And then Christian came upstairs. It's a long saga and I hesitate to share it here because I'd never want to discourage someone from donating blood, but he had a very rare complication after a blood donation and we spent a very long day and night in the hospital. He's going to be just fine and whoa---I got a serious amount of knitting finished. Who needs a weekend? Just give me a medical emergency.

In other news, we're dipping and sprinkling Oreos and pretzels, watercoloring shamrocks after talking about Trinity, planning on green stuffed potatoes for dinner, watching a lot of basketball, and oh, we pulled Michael off the couch to start painting the kitchen. Green. Of course. (No worries, honey, it's just  a sample size pot of paint and we're awaiting your approval.).

And we're missing Paddy something fierce. 

Small Steps Together: Fasting

Right around Christmastime, I was really sick. In hindsight, I don't think I recognized how sick, even though I knew something was wrong. I gained fifteen pounds in fifteen days. My body temperature struggled to get above 96 degrees. I could barely keep my eyes open. I had sores all over the inside of my mouth. And I really felt as if my body was attacking itself.

I have long known that I have a gluten sensitivity. Back in my wheat grinding, four-loaves-a-day-baking days, I would get hives on my face if I reached up to push my hair away from eyes with flour-dusted hands. My mouth itched when I ate bread. After struggling with these symptoms, infertility, and depression for a few years, I got serious about cutting gluten out of my life. Four months later, I was pregnant. And then, I was really good about keeping gluten away. Sarah was conceived shortly after Karoline's first birthday. Then, on bedrest, gluten crept in. I was at the mercy of people bringing me food and I just didn't want to be picky. I was too shy to ask people to avoid wheat. So, I tried to eat around the wheat and just did the best I could. I never really cleaned up my act again.

During Advent, it's particularly difficult to stay away from wheat. Just a little bit here and there, a cookie (or even a piece of one), something fried at a party where there is nothing but appetizers with some form of gluten. I didn't do well, despite my best intentions. So there was the gluten allergy--an autoimmune response with intensity.

At the same time, my thyroid did its own autoimmune dance. Not entirely unexpected; pregnancy is hard on a thyroid (nine of those, even harder) and radiation is really hard on a thyroid (but good for curing lymphoma). My thyroid has done it's very best well past when they thought it would quit, but it's tuckered out.

I plodded through January with thyroid medication. Some relief, but really, very little. And then, someone connected dots for me. There is quite a connection between gluten intolerance and thyroid disease. The more I looked, the more I found. And there is also a connection between gluten intolerance and lymphoma. There's a lot medical science has not yet discovered, but what's already there is really enough for me. Those dots, they were connected.

No more gluten. Not even a little. Ever.

I talked to my pastor. I talked to the priest at the mission church. Both of them were very supportive. All I needed to do to get a very low gluten host was to ask before Mass. And to come up before the rest of the congregation to receive. What a gift!

But, for an introvert, that asking--every time drawing attention to my special need-- and that setting myself apart by going up ahead, that's hard. If you are naturally extroverted and not at all shy, you'll have to take my word for it. That's effort. It's sacrifice. It also requires that I always, always get to Mass early, so that I can ask. If we squeak in just before time or we are even a second late, it's too late. I have to go without Communion.

But it's a sacrifice necessary to receive our Lord!

It's gift. It's grace. Actual grace.

And this time, it's not so hard to stay away from even the little bits of gluten. I look at that puddle of carmelized deliciousness that has pooled in the center of the monkey bread and I know that it has slid down warm, yeasty rolls. So, it is forbidden. And instead of swiping my finger through just a little, just a taste,  I remember that I won't even meet Jesus in the wheat. If I won't have even a wafer of wheat for God Himself, why would I have it for that sticky sugar? And with the thought of Him comes all the strength I need to abstain.

When I pull up at the fast food restaurant, all of us far from home at dinner time, and my stomach is growling and I'm met by a sign that says "All foods come in contact with other foods. Nothing is gluten free" I order a big lemonade and I am grateful, insanely grateful for something filling my stomach. Another time, another place, and it's water. No food at all; there is nothing for me. But somehow, the liquid is enough. God fills the space.

This Lent, I am encouraged to go beyond wheat, to embrace the spiritual discipline of fasting and to trust that God will bless my efforts to the benefit of my soul.

 And Jesus rebuked him, and the devil went out of him, and the child was cured from that hour. Then came the disciples to Jesus secretly, and said: Why could not we cast him out? Jesus said to them: Because of your unbelief. For, amen I say to you, if you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you shall say to this mountain: Remove from hence hither, and it shall remove: and nothing shall be impossible to you. But this kind is not cast out but by prayer and fasting.

Matthew 17:17-20

I remember that He comes to me in the wafer that tastes like brittle burned rice, but He comes. He offers the grace to abstain. So too, does He offer the grace to fast.

When my children ask what to give up for Lent, I always tell them to give up something that they cannot possibly give up on their own, something that will make them call upon God for help. Sometimes, God decides what that will be. When He does, He provides all the grace we need. We are just called to cooperate.

I can do this! By the grace of God.

As Lent begins, the thoughts of the church turn to sacrifice: prayer, fasting, almsgiving.  Small Steps focuses and sacrifice this month. Would you share your thoughts with us, let us find you and walk with you? I'd be so grateful and so honored to have you as a companion. Please leave a link to your blog post below and then send your readers back here to see what others have said.

Candlelight at the Table

In addition to the prayer table candles, my basket of candles to be blessed holds lots of small pillar candles that fit in plain glass votive candle holders.

Let me back up a bit.

As Advent began this year, I was determined that even if I did nothing else, I would ensure that we sat at the table for dinner and lit those candles often enough that the first two candles burned all the way down. If the first one needed to be replaced, all the better. December can be tricky. Basketball practices and holiday busy-ness converge to make the time absurdly busy. I was determined to ensure that we gathered at the table to pray and to break bread together every single day. And I did it! The candles were lit. The song was sung. The prayers were said. We sat together around the table every night. We ate and we talked and we connected.

For Christmas, the girls and I got a little giddy with tablescapes--lots of color and light the whole length of the tables. It was so pretty I wished it could be that way always. But tablescapes are really impractical. My tablecloths are washed almost daily and all those little pieces were cumbersome. Still, I wanted to bring the light of Christmas to our dinner tables throughout the year.

Several months ago, I was talking to a group of soccer moms and dads on the sidelines before the match began. The talk turned to dinnertime and every single person in the group was slackjawed when I said (in answer to a direct question) that I cook dinner every night. This was a group of doctors, lawyers, corporate executives, and accountants. They told me how hard they found the whole concept of putting a meal on the table. The refrigerator was empty. The kids were coming and going. No one really knew how to cook. I admit to stammering a bit as I shared about menu planning, grocery lists, and regular dinner times. It's not brain surgery or international law. Making family dinners happen does require sound management with a generous dash of creativity. And it benefits greatly from the resolve that comes from recognizing the value. We make sure our children take showers and brush their teeth. All those parents make sure their children get to soccer practice. I choose to make sure that my family eats dinner together every night. I think it's important. It's worth the effort.

The nitty gritty is that I make a plan every week and I more-or-less stick with it. The grocery list is keyed to the menu plan. Usually, I rotate three different weekly meal plans, changing them out seasonally or when we get bored. I cook. Most days, I start cooking dinner very early in the day, pulling several children into the process, cutting, stirring and measuring. Often, it all ends up in a Dutch oven to slowly bake or stew while we go about our day.

I shoot for the middle when scheduling dinner. It's not that often that everyone is home around the table at the same time, but usually most of us have a window when we can eat together. For those who can't be home at dinner time, I set aside individual plates, so that whenever they get home there is something nourishing waiting--something that let's them know they were remembered and they are loved. I call Mike late in the day and check his schedule. If he'll be home before 7:30, I make it work to wait for him (whatever it takes--snacks, a walk to the playground, bribery). Over the years, I've learned that my husband looks very forward to sitting at the head of that table and eating with his family. And they hang in there and wait for him; they want him there. If he absolutely cannot be home by 7:30, I feed the children and then set aside some kind of dessert from them to eat with him while he eats dinner. If he's not going to be home in time, I also set his dinner plate aside first, taking an extra moment to make it pretty. My children notice this attention to detail and I think it makes them smile. Overall, when it comes to dinner, there is a plan, a daily plan, and we work the plan.

Our dining room table is set with a tablecloth, real dishes, and --now-- candles.

The candles soften the mood, take the edge off the busy buzz of the people who gather. Lending this glow to our evening meal requires very little of me. I saved a few votive candles from our Christmas table and put them atop our cake plate. We light plain, unscented candles that don't compete with the smells of dinner. It's definitely not perfect. I'm on the hunt for a different cake plate when the budget permits. The one we have doesn't really go with either the decor or the season. It works well enough, though. The "centerpiece" is easily removed to change the tablecloth. And the effect is really quite civilized.

Candlelight invites us to sit a little longer. Candlelight casts us all in kinder glow. Candlelight makes every evening meal a little feast.

 Preparing for Candlemas:

Candlelight in the Morning

Candlelight at the Table

Candlelight at the End of the Day (tomorrow)