Giving thanks

Each night before bed, Matt goes through a time of prayers and poems with Finn, which includes a litany of the day's thanksgivings. Just in the last week or so, Finn has begun adding to the list, wanting to offer his own thanks. His first prayer?

"Thanks for toys. Thanks for ice cream. Thanks for people. Thanks for mama. Thanks for papa."

The other night, Finn was getting a little silly with his list, adding things like "Thanks for cribs. Thanks for windows that go up and down."  When Matt laughed, Finn smiled and added "Thanks for smiles."

Some other recent additions?

"Thanks for oatmeal." "Thanks for yoga." "Thanks for trucks."  "Thank you for the creek." Even if he doesn't really understand what he's saying or to whom, he's at least thinking about his day and remembering the good things, the things that made him happy--which is not a bad way to end the day.

So for tonight, as we end one week and start another, here's my list.
--Thanks for family willing to drive thousands of miles to visit us.
--Thanks for cold mountain water in which to escape the Hong Kong-like weather.
--Thanks for a midwife that tells me I need to gain more weight, and a great state in which to do that.
--Thanks for farmer's markets, rummage sales and live music on the green.
--Thanks for a little boy who loves horses.
--And lastly, to echo Finn, thanks for ice cream.

(and thanks for a cousin who takes great photos! Those last two, of Finn and of the ice cream, were hers. Thanks, Jennie!)

New Vocabulary

We're still alive. Between a drowned computer, a move, jetlag and just a few transitions, this blog (and other forms of computer correspondence) have clearly not been the focus lately, but I think we're back. Finn and I have been in the US for about a month, and we've started our third week in Vermont. Feeling settled in, organized, and a bit more energetic.

Finn's language skills have just exploded in recent months, and it is sweet, I tell you, to hear words like "tractor" and "Vermont" roll off his tongue. Balm to his parents' ears it is, right up there with watching his excitement at finding a frog in the reeds, floating on a raft, or climbing on to said tractor.

So for today, just a few of the words that have entered his vocabulary, thanks to our time in Kansas City and now Vermont.  I think this list will tell you much about how we've spent our time lately.  More pictures to come, along with more adventures ...

airport, runway.
sprinkler, lawn mower, squirrel.
radish, hanger steak.
raspberry.
river, kayak, pond, raft.
trampoline, jeep, silo.
Vermont, maple syrup, story hour.

It's a sweet life, no?

Bread baking

It's not the prettiest or tastiest loaf I've ever made, but considering the materials I have to work with (flour of unknown gluten content, no mixer, a toaster oven) it's not bad. Pretty good, in fact. Much more to our taste than the spongey bread sold around here (bread, we finally realized, which tries to approximate traditional steamed buns, with an unfortunately high degree of success.) The only problem--Finn and I can polish off half a loaf just for lunch, and have to seriously restrain ourselves if Matt gets to try any by the time he gets home. Thankfully, due to that wonderful no-knead method popularized in the NYT a few years ago, it's not a big deal to make some every day.

And that's not the only bread baking around here ... yes, we've got a proverbial bun in the oven. (Forgive the awful transition. And no, I didn't bake the bread just for the purpose of this announcement.) Thus far, the pregnancy has pretty much knocked me down flat, but I'm starting to find my feet (and my appetite), for which both Matt and Finn are surely grateful. (And the grandparents, too, given that we've got quite a backlog of photos and videos to upload. I'll get right on it.)

Due in October; no, we don't know if it's a girl or a boy; and no, it's not affecting our travel plans for the summer. That's about all we know. Oh, and this--we are excited and humbled and a wee bit scared to be starting this journey all over again.

Recipe for bread below. For the bun, you're on your own. 

(This makes one toaster oven size loaf. For a larger loaf, just double the ingredients and lengthen the baking time. Sorry to say I don't know how that will fit in a standard loaf pan. My gut says it might be a little big, but I could be wrong. I don't use a pan at all, but the dough is a bit on the wet side and it always ends up a little flat. I think that a doubled loaf, without a pan, would look like focaccia, but would still taste great.)

1 1/2 cups white flour (bread or strong, if you can find it)

1/2 cup + 2 Tablespoons whole wheat flour 

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon instant yeast

7/8- 1 1/4 cup cool water (this really depends on the kind of flour you have and how humid it is)

1/2 cup dried fruit -- raisins, dried cranberries, and apricots are all good 

1/2 cup chopped pecans or walnuts (or use all nuts or all fruit)  

Stir together the flour, salt, yeast and water. It should be on the tacky/wet side, but not goopy.  If you have bread flour it will take more water than all-purpose. Add the fruit and/or nuts, stir well, cover, and then let sit overnight, or for at least 8 hours.  That's right--no kneading! Time takes care of the gluten development. (This is why you want a wet dough rather than a stiff one, too ... it helps in the gluten molecule rearrangement.)

The next morning, the dough should be puffy and bubbly. Sprinkle some flour around the edges of the bowl, and use a spatula or dough scraper to scrape it down. Quickly shape it, with floured hands, into an oval, then place onto a baking pan or in a greased loaf pan. Cover and let rise again, until puffy, anywhere from 1-2 hours, depending on the humidity and heat. It won't double in size no matter how long you wait. Bake at 450 F until the crust is golden brown and sounds hollow (and the interior registers 205 F), around 40 minutes in my oven. Try to let it cool a bit before slicing into it--you'll get neater slices that way. But if you just can't wait, well, that's ok too.       

A tribute

Twelve years ago, in the fateful spring of a blossoming love, Matt brought me down the hill from St. Olaf campus, across the road, and along a winding lane to a magical fairy house on the banks of Heath Creek. The house was handmade, low-ceilinged, full of stone and books and cigar smoke. The owners, Howard and Edna Hong, served us too-strong coffee and homemade bread, and told us how they had moved the house from on campus to its present location, and I fell in love.

This was before I really knew anything about the Hongs, before I began working at the Kierkegaard Library, before I had read any Kierkegaard, or any of Edna's writings. It may have been an unusual method of courtship, but Matt took me back several times that spring and in the following years, for woodland walks, book discussions and cups of that too-strong coffee. We heard about Edna's engagement bike, learned how to age cheese, tried to follow Howard's rabbit trails of thoughts that always led exactly where he intended, and had our English questioned and corrected over and over.

We left those afternoons inspired and hopeful, refreshed in the knowledge (though never did we articulate this) that such a good life was possible for us too, and that what it required was not masses of talent or intellect or success (though the Hongs had all of that in plenty) but simply the willingness to think, to live thoughtfully and ethically, to act in accordance with one's beliefs, to be ever seeking clarity, to do, in Mother Theresa's words, "small things with great love" (and I would add--great attention as well.)

Last summer we drove down that lane one last time, bringing our son to visit Howard. We shuddered a bit at the stacks of books and papers covering the floor and every surface except our chairs, afraid of the damage our 16-month-old could do. The cigar smell and the coffee were the same, though, and Howard's eyes twinkled. We talked about Edna's death in April 2007, about our life in Hong Kong, about reading poetry aloud to Finn. 

(Heath Creek Gothic, we call it) 

I've tried to make sense of what it is about certain people that their success doesn't make me feel bad about my own life, its smallness or lack of success. Instead, remembering their lives, remembering time in their presence, I am both inspired (given breath) and encouraged (given courage) to attend to my daily duties with attention and care--working out both my humanity and my salvation in the stuff of childcare and chores, not getting lost or consumed in such dailiness but not inattentive to it either.

Howard Hong died a few weeks ago, on March 16. He was 97 and it was not unexpected. Reading the many tributes to him and listening to his memorial service has renewed our sense of privilege at knowing him and Edna, though we were but two of thousands who sought wisdom and coffee at their door. The legacies of their lives will surely play out in uncounted ways around the world. In our own, we have a pair of silverware given as a wedding gift, a wheel of Gouda aging in the back of the refrigerator, and a child who is lulled to sleep each night with the words of Frost and Eliot and Shakespeare. And more than that, we have courage--and when we don't have courage we at least have breath--for the living of these days.

Beauty

I'm on a quest, a hunt,
to find something beautiful everyday, and document it.
I believe, deeply, that this world is full of beauty,
that beauty reveals itself to open eyes, that
all places, even cities, even Hong Kong,
are just waiting to be seen.
Some people say this city is made of
concrete, of bamboo, of buses and smoke and money.
I say it is made of people--
people working, talking, loving, growing, hoping, dying.
And what's not beautiful about that?
Two things I saw today--
men taking down 28 floors of scaffolding. Patiently,
steadily, untying the canvas straps and dropping
bamboo down to waiting hands.
Climbing with no harness, just bodies that know what to do.
And this:
A man kneeling outside the hidden bathrooms behind the tennis courts, the ones where we saw Venus.
Before him lie the butts and half-smoked cigarettes of a celebrity-loving crowd.
He unrolls the paper with determined hands and
pours the tobacco into a tin. He is patient and anything but steady.

it all started with the oranges.

It turned hot this weekend. And humid. The kind of weather that makes us strip down to as little clothing as possible and fight over the direction of the fan. Certainly not the kind of weather that inspires baking, but that's where I was Saturday: standing in front of the oven, fan blasting directly on me, rocking out to Stevie Wonder and Bob Dylan and Patty Griffin.

It all started with the marmalade, really. And I guess before that were the oranges. See, we bought one of those orange trees this year for Chinese New Year, and it wasn't long before we started hearing plops during our meals, and seeing Finn kick around a few extra orange balls.

I decided there had to be something we could do with those pieces of sun, and quickly decided on marmalade. Just as quickly I decided against boiling jars and proper sealing, which meant that all this marmalade would be going in the fridge, to be eaten quickly.

So there I was with a few cups of marmalade, friends coming over for coffee in the am, and an as-yet-unplanned promised dessert for friends in the pm. I did the only sensible thing, really, and baked scones in the morning, to serve with said marmalade and super-rich yogurt, and then did the dessert version for the evening, substituting vanilla cake for the scones and whipped cream for the yogurt.

It was sweet, as it always is, to be in the kitchen baking for friends. And it was delicious, every bite,  ... nothing gourmet or sophisticated about these treats, just simple, clean flavors. The marmalade is just sweet enough, right on the edge of sour, but without any bitterness. I modified a recipe from Martha Stewart that originally called for tangerines and lemons, and it was far easier than I expected.

Scones from KAF, and cake from orangette (minus the glazed oranges.) Oh, and the funky shapes? I have only one round pan, 6" diameter, so I also called into service one of those metal lunch tins, oval in this case. The metal is a little thin, but works just fine. 

Whether your days are hot or cold, slushy or muggy, I wish you sunshine and sweetness, a little music and a meal with friends.

Night Prayer

This is a post more for me than you. I know it is not night for most of you, but it is here, and it is indeed night after a long day. It was a day of saying goodbye to Matt's father, headed back to the US, and a day of greeting, holding a friend's long-awaited baby. A day with blessed glimpses of sun after a week of cold and gray. A day of sorting, settling, sweeping, returning to routine. A day of tears, both mine and Finn's, and of hugs and laughter and quiet conversation. All day, this prayer has been in my heart. And so I share it with you, as we enter a Lenten season, with prayers that this Lent will be a time of stillness, of quiet, and of expectancy. May it be so for us.

Lord,
it is night.
The night is for stillness.
   Let us be still in the presence of God.
It is night after a long day.
   What has been done has been done;
   what has not been done has not been done;
   let it be.
The night is dark.
   Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives
   rest in you.
The night is quiet.
   Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
   all dear to us,
   and all who have no peace.
The night heralds the dawn.
   Let us look expectantly to a new day,
   new joys,
   new possibilities.
In your name we pray,
Amen.

(from the New Zealand Book of Prayer)