Dough, Dirt & Dye

Today's Dough: "Buttermilk" Rolls with Flaxseed & Wheat Germ

2012-02-27T09:52:00.001-06:00

Making your own dinner rolls is almost as easy as buying the frozen ones from the grocery store - and it's a lot healthier and certainly more satisfying. This is a relatively quick dough as it requires only one rise. The resulting rolls are soft, flavorful and beautiful.

I adapted this from Moosewood Restaurant Low-Fat Favorites and you can give these a try yourself by visiting An Unrefined Vegan.

Out of Nowhere: He Looked Like Jesus

2012-02-24T10:19:00.001-06:00

Most of my "out of nowhere" memories - the ones that stick like glue for years and years - originated at night. It's when perception is strongest. When ears and eyes strain to catch the slightest disturbances and the shadows are thick with mystery.

There have been a few times in my life when I have needed help. When my own resources and ingenuity had failed; when I was in a strange place. Each time this has happened to me, a person has appeared out of nowhere to help. Call them Good Samaritans. Call them Godsends. Call it complete coincidence. I don't know. Perhaps the scared and the lost give off vibrations that attract both the well-intentioned and the nefarious - and I've just lucked out and attracted the benevolent variety.

Wendover, NV, September 2011

Wendover, Nevada. Dry and brown and sparsely populated. At least back in the 1980s. Hardly a destination town unless you were from Utah and you were looking to get a beer stronger than 3.2. Or you wanted to lose some money.

The four of us sat in the sky-blue Pontiac Bonneville in the parking lot of the casino in Wendover. The engine refusing to turn over. Refusing even to make that sad *click* when the battery is nearly dead. It was very late. The plan had been to spend a few hours in the casino and then head back across the Bonneville Salt Flats, back to Salt Lake and to sleep. It didn't look like that was going to happen.

My brothers had poked around under the hood and determined that the alternator was shot. There had been no hint of trouble when we'd left Salt Lake late on a bright, sunny afternoon. Where to get an alternator at two in the morning in a deserted border town?

It didn't occur to any of us to pool together our meager funds (credit cards? we didn't have those then) and get a couple of hotel rooms - leave the problem-solving for the sunlight hours - and so we sat, thinking of what to do next. We didn't see the man come up to the car. All of a sudden he was peering into the driver's side window, tapping his finger on the glass. Startled, my brother's head reared back. The lights in the parking lot had turned the stranger's face yellow, his hair into a bright halo. The man spoke through the glass, "Do you need some help?"

The man looked like Jesus. Or like the classic depictions of Jesus: tall and thin with long brown hair, a long beard. My brother replied and the man said, again through the glass, "I know where you can get one." It seemed utterly preposterous, but they were the words my brother needed to hear, and so he opened the door of the car. The man's voice was clear now, loud, since glass was no longer separating us. "I can take you there right now if you want." Without so much as a glance into the back seat - where my other brother and I were sitting - Jesus and my brother walked away and disappeared into the dark.

I was certain that I had just seen the last of him. No good could come of a stranger tapping on a car window during the darkest, the most unsettled hours of the night. Yet we all sat completely immobile. It seemed to me we could have sat there, unmoving, throughout the night, into the next morning and deep into the next day. I'm sure the three of us remaining in the car spoke, but I can't remember what was said.

It seemed as if hours had gone by, yet the sky was still black when again, out of nowhere, a person walked up to the car. My brother. Alone. He opened the driver's side door. Cradled in his hand, like a surgeon gingerly carrying an organ meant for transplant, he held an alternator. The boys got out of the car and went to work under the hood. Then they were finished and my brother turned the key. The engine sounded weak, the patient slowly coming back to life after surgery. The dash lights flickered and died. But the engine eventually turned over and we rolled cautiously out of the parking lot and headed east, back into Utah. We discovered that to keep the car running there could be no dash lights, no radio, no rolling the windows up and down. The Salt Flats stretched out on either side of the road, eerily bone white even in the dark.

As we drove, my brother told us what had happened. I will leave the details for those of us in the car that night. And to Jesus, of course. Suffice to say that after they found the part that was needed, my brother gave him a few bucks and Jesus walked back into the night and disappeared.

Today's Dough: Anadama Bread

2012-02-21T08:57:00.000-06:00

In his bread baking tome, The Bread Baker's Apprentice, Peter Reinhart relates the apocryphal story behind the origin of Anadama bread: an angry fisherman finds that his the wife has flown the coop - leaving behind only a pot of cornmeal mush and molasses. To make a more substantial meal, he adds yeast and flour and curses her by saying, "Anna, damn 'er!" Over time the oath was allegedly shortened to Anadama. Whatever the true origin of the name, the bread is generally agreed to hail from Rockport, Maine - possibly via Finnish immigrants.

It is a hearty, slightly sweet whole grain bread that bakes up with a nice, crunchy crust and soft crumb. It works well as a sandwich bread whether the fillings are sweet or savory. The version I'm sharing on An Unrefined Vegan is a big batch of the no-knead variety so it can be made up, stored in the refrigerator and baked as needed - as loaves or rolls.

The Peril of Flat Surfaces

2012-02-19T10:32:00.000-06:00

There is something more dangerous than the icy slope, stronger than the hungry pull of gravity, more treacherous than the scree-strewn slopes of a mountainside: it is the dreaded flat surface. The side table, the bench, the seat, even the kitchen stool is not safe. A magnetic force pulls objects towards the alluringly safe surfaces. Their pancaked placidity cries out for detritus to be stacked upon them which then become trapped, immovable as Easter Island stones. There is no known remedy to combat the flat surface; as yet preventative measures have proved unsuccessful. Where is the measuring tape? The baseball cap from last summer? The key to the lock on the gate? Check the nearest flat surface.

Out of Nowhere: The Body in the Road

2012-02-17T09:06:00.001-06:00

We carry around in our heads thousands of memories, some of them fragments, some so rich with detail they feel as if the event just occurred. Others are so frayed and thin that they are more sensation than a past reality. One wonders if a memory they've thumbed over again and again truly happened - was it part of a dream or something that happened to someone else? In a series (which I'm calling "Out of Nowhere"), I will be sharing the kinds of memories that remain bright - that have stood out because of their strangeness, because of their poignancy, or significance - or maybe for no particular reason at all.

The Body in the Road

I was the last to be dropped off that night, late. Early, really, around 3 or 4 am. I'd been with my friends since early evening, doing nothing much. I was on the passenger side of the big, broad front seat of Gary's 50s-era car, all shiny chrome and waxy leather. He loved and babied that car so as he made the right turn off of the pavement of Wilson Mills onto the gravel road that ran past my home, he slowed down to avoid any spray of rocks pinging against the pristine paint job.

Save for the headlights there was no illumination on the road on that mild summer night. And it was quiet. Even the crickets had gone to sleep. As Gary turned, the headlights swung wide and resettled onto the road and something flashed ahead of us. Gary slowed and put the car into park. The sound of the crunch of wheels on rocks stopped. Seconds ticked without either one of us moving as our brains' struggled to make sense of the image on the other side of the windshield. A few feet in front of the car was a limp form, human, down in the dirt, right in the center of the road. My throat constricted but my hand was reaching for the door handle. Gary was already out. We walked to the front of the car, the light flooding our faces, the body bright, alarmingly three-dimensional yet sickeningly boneless. Neither one of us wanted to reach for it.

But. A dummy. Something stuffed and dressed to look human. We looked at each other, relief mingling with the dissipating remnants of fear and dread. Thank goodness it hadn't been real. Thank goodness we hadn't run over it. Thank goodness we didn't have to help. Gary dragged the dummy to the side of the road. My heart rate slowed. We got back into the car and drove the next mile in silence, following the sturdy beam of the headlights to my house, dark and comforting in the early morning.

(Thanks to Kel for playing The Body.)

BESTeam Feature: Welcomes

2012-02-15T07:32:00.000-06:00

After what feels like a long hiatus, it's time to rev up the Besteam Features once again. Today I'm welcoming a new member - Delia - as well as a returning member - Lilly. Welcome and welcome back! The fabulous Blue and White Wear rounds out my BT Feature post.

Several things struck me right away about Delia's jewelry: the bold shapes and colors, and the intricate nature of her designs. They look like tapestries. These are statement pieces that will draw a lot of attention. Delia uses stones and crystals and beads to create her one-of-a-kind pieces.

DeeDeeDzyn

Shop || Blog

Arabian Night Beaded Necklace.

Zig Zag Beaded Bracelet.

It's good to welcome Lilly back to the team. She's the creative force behind Ancient Oils. For Lilly, it's all about holistic healing for the mind and body through aromatherapy. Perfumes, soaps, bath teas, scrubs and fragrant oils in lavender, peppermint, myrrh, sandalwood and more.

Ancient Oils

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Peppermint Foot Scrub.

Saraswati Bath Salts.

Blue & White Wear always impresses me with the clean look of its modern-meets-Oriental jewelry. Claire has translated her world travels into bracelets, necklaces, earrings made of beads, gemstones, charms and porcelain: elegant and eye-catching.

Blue & White Wear
Shop || Blog || Facebook

Blue & White Pearl Drop Necklace.

Red & Black Charm Bracelet.

As part of my BESTeam commitment, throughout the month I will be posting short features of several of the fabulous shops and talented artisans who comprise the team. What is BESTeam? It's The Boosting Etsy Shops Team and our goal is to give support to each other and to help promote each others' Etsy shops through blogging, Facebook and other social networks. If you are an Etsy shopowner and are interested in learning more about BESTeam, please visit the team page on Etsy or have a look at the BESTeam blog.

Happy Valentine's Day!

2012-02-14T08:42:00.000-06:00

Winter Comes (Briefly) to Oklahoma

2012-02-12T11:47:00.000-06:00

I bought the jacket from Eddie Bauer back in 1997 while living in Russia. Mail order is a wonderful thing. It's a man's large - not sure what my thinking was on that. I'm 5'4" and weigh, well, not nearly a man's size large, let's put it that way. It is the warmest jacket on earth - based on my vast research on cold-weather jackets employed around the globe.

The insulated overalls, which I love deeply, came from a local store called Sharpe's and are a boy's size large. Apparently women don't merit their own cozy insulated overalls. They'd probably come in pink anyway, so maybe it's for the best. Mud and cow manure don't look so good on pink. Then there's what I call a "neck gator," which can be used like a hat, scarf, or as above, for going around incognito. Sometimes you just want to take a walk without being mobbed by crazed fans (cows). Underneath it all are long johns, sweat pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt and two fleeces. It's a wonder that I can move at all. I could be down a long time if I fell.

This is how I've met the morning for the past couple of days as a very cold system moves through the state. The forecast is for more cold and - maybe our yearly ice storm - late tonight and into Monday. So I'll be gearing up again at least for another day. If you don't hear from me in a while, assume the worst, and send someone over to pick me up off of the ground.

Today's Dough: Sweet & Savory Pinwheel Rolls

2012-02-09T08:36:00.004-06:00

Stir the dough ingredients together; place in a bowl, cover and refrigerate overnight.

The next day, roll out the dough and spread the filling over it.

Roll from the long side - jelly-roll style - and cut into pieces.

Place on cookie sheets and let rise for an hour.

Bake and let cool a little bit - then dig in.

You can find all of the details on how to make these easy, no-knead rolls (with two kinds of fillings) at An Unrefined Vegan.

The Long Shadows of A Late Afternoon in Winter

2012-02-07T07:43:00.002-06:00

"Which way should we go?"
"Let's go up."

And we do. We follow the cows' paths, smooth and slim, erratic. Some of the paths are deep gulleys with mud rivulets where rain has gushed; some are sandy and smooth. We aren't the only ones who take these byways. There are coyote prints and dogs' prints, opossum and raccoon, crow, turkey and large feline prints that appear secretive, slow, stealthy.

In spots the air is cooler and lighter. We squint in the setting sun - which burns more fiercely as if recognizing its own sad passing below the horizon. Don't forget me. As the hour deepens, our shadows lengthen, soon so long it is as if we are following them home.

Versatile Is My Blog's Middle Name

2012-02-05T07:38:00.003-06:00

Recently Lynette at Sweet Posy Dreams received the Versatile Blogger Award (yay!) which meant that she in turn was compelled to bestow the award to other bloggers - and lo and behold, she chose my blog as one of the recipients. I'd seen the "button" on blogs here and there - and now I've got one of my own for Dough, Dirt & Dye! There's just a few administrative things I need to do:

A) Thank the Bestower:

Thank you, Lynette! If you haven't found her blog yet, click here and go check it out. I enjoy chatting with Lynette via our blogs. I'm always interested to see what she's been up to in the kitchen and reading stories about her "ordinary" life in the Midwest. And she always has beautiful antique and vintage items to share as well (visit her Etsy shop here).

and

B) Share Seven Factoids About Myself:

1) I can neither sew, knit nor crochet.
2) My first "real" job during college summer break was in a bookbinding factory; I restored the bindings on antique and rare volumes.
3) I thought I'd grow up and either be an actress or an archeologist. I stuck with the "As" and became an artist.
4) I can't love beets no matter how much I try.
5) I once had a brindle cat named Squirrel Nutkin, after the Beatrix Potter book/character; and a gray tabby named, Big. I still miss them both.
6) Someday I'd love to live in the mountains - and right next to the ocean - with a view of red rock country - in a thick, hardwood forest - on rolling, grass-covered hills that stretch for miles.
7) I did not inherit my mother's green thumb.

and, finally

C) Pass It On

I am passing the VB luv on to some of my fellow bloggers. Without further ado, here are the 15 I've chosen - a nice mix (I think) of the personal, the crafty and the foody:

Bacon Is Not An Herb
Cabin + Cub
Good Things*
Handmade In Israel
Hello Beautiful
I Am Nanny Anna
Island Buzzy
Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler
M*O*R*G*A*N*I*C*
Ms Val's Creations
Our Home to Yours
The Good Luck Duck
So About What I Said...
Sunset Shutterbug
The Inspired Lens

Now, fabulous fifteen, the torch is in your hands. Go forth and be Versatile!

The Light Box Project

2012-02-03T14:48:00.001-06:00

I don't often embark on do-it-yourself projects - getting three meals a day on the table is sometimes more do-it-yourself than I can manage - but because I have never been satisfied with the way my greeting cards photograph, I decided to do some research to find out what I could do to improve things.

I found a lot of articles and posts dedicated to tips for the amateur photographer, many of them geared towards the food blogger and the crafter. Many of them made my head spin. When I came across How to Make An Inexpensive Light Tent by Darren Rowse it seemed not only like something I could easily tackle, but might actually be fun.

The box came courtesy of Bob's Red Mill and I was able to get the rest of the necessary ingredients at my local WalMart - though I wasn't sure about the light bulbs (more on that later). It took me an hour and a half or so, with interruptions, to put this very simple contraption together and by late afternoon I was ready to take the first test photographs.

I decided to try all three of my cameras - though that term is generous for two of them. I have a little Canon Powershot that I've had for ages, plus the cameras on my HTC Android and my new iPad.

You can see from the above photo that I used three lights (unlike as shown in Darren's article) because I'd seen this done in another lightbox post and it seemed like a good way to manage unwanted shadows. The background is a pure white poster board. I took lots of photos from each camera - using two different greeting cards (one with a cream-colored stock and the other a sage green stock). I also photographed two small bowls, just for further comparison. Finally, I took some photos in the daylight (you can see the window to the right of the lightbox) and some at night - so there was no outside light filtering in. I was hoping for a professional look, but as you'll see below, I got something quite different.

The first photos are from the Canon and I expected those to be the best. You can see that the photos have a definite rosy hue...

Canon Powershot, nightime.

Canon Powershot, daytime.

Canon Powershot, nighttime.

Canon Powershot, daytime.

Next up was the Android HTC. The photos, I think, are a little bit better - though still not at all what I'd like.

Android HTC, nighttime.

Android HTC, daytime.

Android HTC, nighttime.

Android HTC, daytime.

The last series was taken with my iPad and surprisingly, they look the truest. There is still some red and blue coming through in the background and on the cards, but less so than either the Canon or the Android. Despite the improvement, I'm not satisfied with these photos, but I believe the problem lies with the light bulbs rather than with the box itself. I was unable to find "daylight" bulbs so opted for ones labeled "clean, beautiful." Once I get my hands on some true daylight/photography bulbs, I'll test all over again.

Despite the disappointing results, I think this is a worthwhile project. There are many manufacturers of light boxes (most of which come with everything you need: lights, colored backgrounds and of course, the box itself) as I found out after I'd already completed my project (thanks to Isobel at Coldham Cuddlies for the tip - who coincidentally just purchased a light box). Prices vary from around $30 to $150 and more (on Amazon). I put mine together for about $30.

Apple iPad, nighttime.

Apple iPad, daytime.

Apple iPad, nighttime.

A Driving Lesson in Baghdad

2012-02-01T09:04:00.001-06:00

May, 2004; the sky a soft blue with no hint of the usual yellow haze from blowing sand. Sitting in a white, subcompact car under the Swords of Qadisyah in Baghdad...Wait. Let me start at the true beginning to this story.

1989 or thereabouts. Despite heavy pressure from my dad, I had been resisting learning how to drive from 16 to the ripe old age of 21. I felt like the only teenager (and then not a teenager anymore) on the continent who had no interest in getting behind the wheel. But one day a Hyundai Excel appeared parked along the sidewalk in front of my Little Italy apartment, a gift from dad. The day had come. I couldn't avoid it any longer. I signed up for driving lessons from a chain-smoking 50-something woman who made me hold a super-size 7-Eleven cup in one hand while entering a highway at 60 mph. I passed my exam the first time around despite mowing down the traffic cones while doing the parallel parking portion of the test.

For as long as I could remember, dad hammered away at us kids about the importance of learning how to drive a manual transmission - because we'd "be able to drive any car in an emergency." But the thought of paying attention to steering, other drivers and the car's speed along with fooling around with a clutch and a stick-shift filled me with fear (I once drove - wondering why the engine sounded so strained - halfway from Cleveland to Columbus in third gear.) But I learned and soon it was second nature. And dad was right (as usual). Knowing how to drive a stick got me my a good job at a commercial photographer's studio.

Now back to 2004, in Baghdad. From the front seat of the car, I had a close-up view of the swords. Impressive and menacing, it feels like inviting combat to simply walk under them. They are a part of a large complex: a stadium, the sprawling Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers (we called it the Clam Shell) and a long, wide avenue for parading tanks and troops. The swords, clutched in fists, rise 130 feet into the air. The arms and hands were supposedly modeled after Saddam's own and the piles of helmets, cracked and battered, that tumble beneath the sabers are allegedly those of dead Iranian soldiers, some 5,000 of them. Around the swords were acres of dull, hot gray surrounded by concrete barriers and razor wire, baked by the sun. It was a place as empty and useless as only a site of marches and triumphant gatherings of the recently vanquished could be. For a few years to come, at least, there would be no more parades. Grass and weeds had already started breaking through the concrete.

Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers.

We'd chosen that place for its openness and emptiness. No other cars. No one was around. I was in the driver's seat with a young man sitting next to me who knew how to drive, but he did not know how to drive a stick-shift. Since all of the cars in the fleet of the ministry where I worked were standards, he'd found getting around the city at night (a questionable activity at best) difficult. Since he was determined to drive alone outside of the Green Zone, it was at least prudent to know how to operate a car with a manual transmission. Stalling one's car would be unwise. I started out the lesson by pushing the clutch in, moving the stick into first gear, and then demonstrating how to release the clutch slowly until that magic sensation of resistance is reached and it is time to press the gas pedal - just so - until the car smoothly begins to move. Words are one thing. After a few more minutes of instruction, it was time for him to get behind the wheel. Suddenly, I was nervous. I felt what millions of parents have felt as they've relinquished the car to their inexperienced teenagers - chilled by that flash of eager cockiness in their eyes as they grab the keys.

He got behind the wheel and I told him to push the clutch in and out a few times, to get the feel of it. And then he said he was ready. He pressed in the clutch, moved the stick to first and - we hopped and lurched and stalled a few times and I understood my mother's unconscious reflex of pushing her foot onto the imaginary brake pedal on the passenger's side. I was doing it myself along with a white-knuckled grip around the strap above the passenger side door. He made a few loops beneath the swords, stopping now and then to start all over. He got a little better, but not much. He was far from ready for the open road, but I could see he'd grown impatient and was ready to go. We switched seats so that I could drive us back to the parking lot.

I knew that evening he would test out his new-found skill and again, I felt like a parent, watching her child throwing off the apron strings and heading into the unknown to learn and experience for himself. He was on his own. Not long afterwards and only a short time after I'd left Iraq, he was seriously injured in a car. He wasn't driving and in fact, he was not even involved in a car accident. It was something much worse. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but think about our short lesson on that warm, bright day underneath the shining sabers and how that brief lesson might have added detrimentally to his confidence and feeling of security while driving outside of the Green Zone late at night.

Candy Hearts: An EtsyGreetings Valentine Blog Hop

2012-01-30T06:13:00.000-06:00

I was never one for Peeps or Cadbury Eggs at Easter. Halloween was still Halloween without waxy candy corn. And I could easily pass up those red-white-and-green mint candies at Christmas that always got stuck to the wrappers. But candy hearts... I liked those. Small and cute with their silly, misaligned sayings; like Necco Wafers' cuter cousin - and their vaguely minty, maybe-kind chocolate flavor and the powdery texture that melted on the tongue. Not to mention the cute red box they came in with the cut-out heart.

Candy hearts were the inspiration for my hand-painted greeting card, Luv Bubbles. So I knew exactly what I was searching for as a companion piece. This pure silver candy heart from Heidi Egerman Designs was just the thing. Heidi takes her inspiration from nature to design beautiful metal cuffs, pendants and earrings. Please take a few moments to visit her shop.

For more candy-heart-related Etsy goodies, check out my recent treasury, Candy Hearts, Etsy Arts. And there are lots more beautiful hand-crafted cards and Valentine's stories from the EtsyGreetings team - just click the right and left arrows below.

Today's Dough: Peanut Butter and Jam-Filled Tangzhong Bread

2012-01-29T08:10:00.000-06:00

My love of peanut butter-and-jelly is well know. So when I came across this very interestingly-named bread, I decided right then and there what kind of concoction would comprise the filling.

These look like they take a lot of work, but in fact, they are simple to make - though there is a time investment. Well worth it to have these gorgeous, soft and sweet rolls sitting on a plate next to your cup of coffee at the end of the effort!

To try your hand at Tangzhong bread and to fill them with whatever your taste buds desire (cinnamon-sugar-raisin? parsley-walnut-garlic-onion?) visit my vegan cooking blog, An Unrefined Vegan for the step-by-step.

BESTeam Feature: Friends with Talent

2012-01-27T09:55:00.001-06:00

Big city or small town it's not unusual to lose the internet connection now and then and it's probably not even that unusual for the connection to be lost due to a truck plowing into a utility line. But having lost internet connectivity while living in big cities and experiencing what it's like dealing with big city internet providers, what is unusual is that in a small town, one can get personal attention pretty much immediately. Take yesterday.

For the better part of the day, I was unable to get online. When I finally got around to calling about it, the conversation went something like this: "Plainsnet, this is David." "Hi, David. Anything going on with the server? I've been down most of the day." "Yep. Truck hit a pole." "Wow, okay - any idea how long it'll be down?" "Your guess is as good as mine." Amazing. A real person picked up the phone after two rings, and since I'd been to their office a few times to mail packages (they are also the Fed Ex outlet), I could picture the scene as I dialed the number late yesterday afternoon.

And so my day was spent doing those things that otherwise get pushed aside because I'm sitting in front of my computer. (It was pretty nice, actually, to be disconnected.) One of things I'd planned on doing was writing up my last BESTeam feature for January. Which just happens to feature the two women on the team with whom I've formed the closest relationships.

Debbi steers the BESTeam ship and she does it with efficiency, intelligence and most importantly, with humor. I know that she has many oars in the waters of life - from family to church to crafting to gosh knows what else- and yet she always has a moment for her team members. I can't even count the number of times I've pestered Debbi with questions. I've shared just a few items from the shop - Our Home to Yours - that she and her daughter, Amanda, run on Etsy. Their shop is varied (scarves, hats, jewelry, vintage items), ever-changing and beautifully displays their passions for creating.

Crochet Shawlette.

Chunky Crochet Cowl.

Gold Chain Necklace with Red-orange Beads.

Red Sparkle Ribbon Scarf.

Our Home to Yours
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Early on in my blogging career (ahem), I ran across Isobel's shop, Coldham Cuddlies, and - I'm not sure what it was, exactly - but something made me reach out to her. Perhaps it was that her lovingly made bears, foxes, coyotes (oh yes, we did have an immediate connection over coyotes!) and rabbits recalled my own childhood, surrounded by beloved stuffed animals. So began a steady email correspondence with Isobel part sounding board, part Dear Abby and all friend.

Isobel is doing something that is truly unique and sadly, probably, an art that is slowly disappearing. Every one of her "cuddlies" is destined to become a treasured friend and a family heirloom. Isobel can also repair your over-loved cuddlies.

Baby Bunnies!

Furry Mommy Fox.

Green Velvet Glove Puppet.

Light Brown Plush Bear.

Coldham Cuddlies

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Arrivals

2012-01-25T09:38:00.000-06:00

I can't remember a time when flying was a special occasion warranting the wearing of a nice dress, high heels; a suit and tie for men. Full meals on china with silverware. Drinks in crystal. Seat belts optional and a spiral staircase to a lounge and the first class cabin. My parents remember. But I do remember when we could wait at the gate for a loved one to come out of the plane. I can even recall running down the gangway to meet my father right at the open door of the plane.

My dad did a lot of overseas travel back in the late 60s and early 70s and so his young family spent a good deal of time taking him to and picking him up from the airport. Neither was a chore (except probably for my mother who had to do the driving and the herding of four active children). We looked forward to the adventure of going to the airport. It seemed exotic - modern and shiny. Teeming with people with interesting (or so I imagined) stories about where they'd come from and where they were going. Duty-free shops, smokey and mysterious bars, impressively-uniformed airline employees wheeling their bags along the wide corridors.

Dad's arrivals were to be anticipated days ahead of time. We looked for the bags he would be carrying - covered in foreign words - that we knew held bars of Swiss chocolate and a stuffed animal or two. Departures were harder, of course. Saying goodbye isn't really ever fun. There are strained smiles and tears and last looks over shoulders.

Despite myself I still scan the crowd waiting by the gate as a I disembark from planes. Maybe, maybe... But those days are over. We have to settle for being greeting at the thin line between "secure" and suspicious. I still feel a tiny twinge of excitement when going to the airport even though that small part of it - being at the gate, peering past other travelers to find your traveler - has been taken away. It's still all about reconnecting and hugging, catching up and being happy that the one you are meeting is finally home.

Thank You, Zibbet!

2012-01-23T07:36:00.001-06:00

As hard it is to imagine, I had no idea when I signed up for a "premium" shop on Zibbet.com that I had automatically been entered into a contest to win an iPad2. It's a good thing I didn't know, for surely, I would never have won it. After confirming that the "You just won an iPad2" email was indeed real, I immediately told any and all who would listen about my wonderful good fortune. And I bought a nifty black case for it. The only thing Zibbet required was a photo of it - and me. A pretty good deal, I'd say.

So, thank you Jonathan Peacock and everyone at Zibbet for my beautiful, shiny, brand-spankin' new iPad. It was love at first sight.

BESTeam Feature: Making Up For Lost Time

2012-01-21T15:45:00.001-06:00

I must apologize to my BESTeam team mates. I've been MIA for the past 12 days or so and I've neglected my feature obligations. It's not that I haven't been thinking about my BESTie friends - it's just that I was busy admiring the crashing waves of the Pacific, shielding my midwest-winter-weakened eyes from the glare of the sun, strolling around a chic ocean town, wandering into shops that I had no business walking into, pondering where my next meal or soy mocha was going to come from...you can see the strain I was under. But all the while I had my next BESTeam feature in the back of my mind. So without further ado, I present three talented artisans with three beautiful and unique Etsy shops.

Flores del Sur
Shop || Blog || Facebook || Twitter

pins || brooches || hair clips || bobby pins

Felt Brooch in Orange.
Don't they look like juicy, sweet, little mandarins?

Pink, Fuchsia and Burgundy Brooches.
Modern and retro = classic.

Beader Bubbe
Shop || Blog || Facebook || Twitter

crystal || paper beads || polymer clay || jewelry || supplies

Bony Earrings.
With a name like that, how could I resist?

Boy & Girl Charms.
Play date time.

CK Silver
Shop || Blog || Facebook || Twitter

sterling silver || freshwater pearls || semi-precious stones || Swarovski crystal

Orange Carnelian Sunrise Hammered Silver Earrings.
Playful, stylish and eye-catching.


Silver Cross, Onyx, and Brecciated Jasper Necklace. A beautiful mix of contemporary, earthy and spiritual.

Stone Knives and Bearskins

2012-01-20T09:22:00.000-06:00

"Captain, you're asking me to work with equipment which is hardly very far ahead of stone knives and bearskins." - Spock, to Captain Kirk (from "The City on the Edge of Forever" episode)

As far as treating cancer, it seems like methods haven't changed that much since my grandmother died of colon cancer some fifty years ago: heavy doses of radiation followed by debilitating chemotherapy. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Interesting and encouraging new treatments appear on the horizon and then fade into failure and disappointment. There has been good progress in conquering some forms of cancer, but others remain tenaciously hard to beat.

My brother has been through the radiation and chemo wringer. After a year of the "gold standard" chemo, it has proved to be ineffective, so now we work our way through a list of alternatives. Meanwhile, we've kept our eyes and ears tuned to the latest research, clinical trials and FDA approvals. We have him taking a cocktail of supplements for which he needs a schedule to keep track. I encourage (unsuccessfully so far...) him to incorporate dietary changes, yoga and meditation into his treatment regimen. Any and all options are on the table.

This past week at The Santosh Kesari Laboratory at the University of California San Diego we got him started on something completely different. When my brother was diagnosed in October 2010 with glioblastoma multiforme (GBM) the family dove into the internet looking for anything we could find on treating this deadly disease. One of the things that popped up was something called the NovoTTF - described as a helmet that used electric fields to disrupt the growth of cancer cells. Real out-there stuff, but intriguing. At that time, the device was still in clinical trials, so my brother opted for the traditional treatment regimen: radiation and chemotherapy.

Meanwhile, the "helmet" was approved by the FDA for use in the treatment of GBM - neuro-oncologists could being prescribing it once they were certified by the inventing company, Novocure (based in Israel). When we learned that the standard chemotherapy was not working for my brother, we immediately went back to the idea of the "helmet." Only a few clinics in the country are as yet certified to prescribe the device and San Diego was the closest one to my brother.

Long story short, my brother is now wearing the device. It is not for the faint of heart. It is cumbersome, awkward and elicits stares and sometimes polite, sometimes rude, questions. The head has to be shaved clean. The batteries are huge, heavy and last only two hours - which means planning ahead even for short trips is a must. The device beeps if it gets too hot; it beeps if the power wavers; it beeps when the battery dies. It must be worn for a minimum of 18 hours a day. It comes with a large rolling case (a la band roadies), a large bag of redundant equipment in case something fails, and a tote for razor, bandages, scissors, rubbing alcohol and medical tape. Long cords get in the way of putting on coats, moving quickly and getting in and out of cars. The patches that house the thermistor disks are sticky and tend to get tangled and mangled - and they must be replaced every 4-7 days. No doubt this will change over the years and the device will become streamlined, but for now, it's a real pain in the ass.

But there is no argument that the bigger pain in the ass is a diagnosis of GBM. So despite all of the hassles, we are grateful for this option. Despite the primitiveness of it - the "stone knives and bearskins" aspect of it - we can't help but imagine what a breakthrough this device could prove to be - and not just for people who suffer from GBM - but from other types of cancer (Novocure will launch a device for lung cancer next). Maybe all of this time we've been barking up the wrong tree. What if toxic chemicals and poisons aren't the answer? Imagine what a miracle it would be if cancer patients could be cured with a device that is painless and produces virtually zero side effects.

Running in Places

2012-01-17T09:48:00.000-06:00

At some point during each run this past week, I've had to stop and pinch myself to make sure I'm really running along the Pacific Ocean; that the colorful tangle and variety of flowers are real; that those are seals and pelicans I'm seeing in and on the gray and foaming water. The only rule I have is that some portion of the morning run must be along the beach. Otherwise I take whatever turn looks interesting - skinny stairways, thin alleys, wet sea rocks.

This is not a revelation to runners: running is a great way to explore a new place. I'm finding this out all over again on my trip to La Jolla. Each morning I get up before the traffic and the crowds on the sidewalk and hoof it all over town - down sand-covered stairs that lead to the water and back up through the quiet streets - admiring waves and sand; flowers and trees; homes and shops. What is drudgery at home (the daily workout) becomes something to anticipate in the mornings. The air is cool and smells of salt and seaweed and blossoms.

Running is active meditation. I think about everything and nothing at all. Problems get probed and solved. Ideas bloom or get rejected. The day gets fleshed out and breakfast becomes the most tempting and earned meal of the day.

Despite the exotic surroundings, I will be glad to get back home. The press of people and traffic and the constant noise of a populous place are wearing. I'm looking forward to quiet and space. But still, running here has been a joy. I've got four more days of it here in Southern California. Tomorrow I'm planning on heading in a different direction, to an area called Windansea and then maybe into the Bird Rock neighborhood. I can't wait to see what's there.

Game Cam Update

2012-01-14T18:19:00.000-06:00

On its second night "out in the field" we got exactly zero photos from the wildlife camera. Not to be deterred Kel set the camera up once again - this time at the edge of the woods, facing into the pasture - a high-traffic area. The next morning we had lots of photos: the usual array of cows (one actually used the camera to scratch an itch on her chin), a rabbit and a big raccoon. But the best photos of the night were of a coyote (which should please my friend Isobel). It's clear from two of the photos that he or she was startled by the flash of the camera.

On another night we set the camera to video to see if we could get any action shots. When I first saw the video below, I thought the small creature hopping across in and out of the frame was a frog. A frog in December? A closer look revealed a mouse with a very long tail.

5 Neglected Tasks (That I'm Thinking About Doing Soon)

2012-01-12T08:32:00.000-06:00

1) Clean the Coffee Pot
I'm not the coffee consumer in the household. Well, I'm not the major* coffee consumer in the household. And I'm fairly certain the major consumer/barrista would be hard-pressed to notice if the coffeepot did not receive its occasional maintenance.

The maintenance? I "brew" white vinegar and water through the pot a few times and swirl a combination of kosher salt and ice cubes around and around in the carafe. The metal mesh filter gets brightened and some of the stains on the inside of the carafe come out, but my undiscerning taste buds don't notice any improvement in the taste of the coffee. Here is the formula that I use:

Use 1 part white vinegar to 2 parts water.
Pour the mixture into the water reservoir of the coffeemaker and cycle/brew through.
Turn off the coffeemaker and let the pot cool for 20 minutes.
Follow with two full cycles/brews of fresh, cool water.

*It's true. I do, in fact, require 1/4 cup of fresh-brewed coffee when I make a Hot Chocolate-Mocha drink.

2) Vacuum Along Baseboards
I should do this every time I vacuum. I should. But it's difficult on the knees. And there are so many baseboards. When quickly running the vacuum around the house makes everything look neat and clean, it's hard to justify going that extra mile (literally) more than once or twice a year.

3) Change Furnace Filter
Ridiculously easy and quick job. And yet it can hang around on my To Do list for months. I write the date of the filter change on the filter itself and I'm always mildly embarrassed at how late I am in changing it. Thankfully there is no Furnace Filter Police checking up on me.

3) Change Brita Filter
No big deal, right? A few minutes and it's done. But it's another filter that I don't change often enough, despite the handy sticker on the side of the container that tells me exactly when to change it. I always say: I'll get to it tomorrow, but right now I just need a glass of water.

5) Dust the Venetian Blinds
Dusting. A hateful job. You dust; it flies around the room and resettles itself. But dusting blinds is even worse. It's got to be on the top 10 list of worst household chores. I even bought a handy-dandy tool with which to do this thankless, miserable, tedious task. Do I use it? No. I had visions of me quickly and easily cleaning the wood slats and feeling tremendously satisfied about it. Turning visions into actions...that's the rub.

Today's Dough: Onion & Mustard Seed Braid

2012-01-12T08:31:00.000-06:00

Today on An Unrefined Vegan, I've posted a recipe for an elegant, easy-to-make bread that works well as a sandwich bread or alongside dips or spreads, soups and stews. The braid really makes it look special, though you could bake it up as a plain loaf. The onions are not overpowering - they kind of melt into the bread and the mustard seeds add good texture and make for a pretty slice. This would make an excellent and impressive "beginner" bread for someone just trying their hand at breadmaking.

Vegan Dog Bikkies

2012-01-10T07:01:00.000-06:00

No, Ikey isn't a vegan dog, but I'm a vegan baker, so if I'm going to make biscuits for him - I'd just as soon they be meat-free. I pulled this recipe from a fun site, Doggy Dessert Chef which I found after I joined Foodbuzz.com. They have loads of recipes for treats for pets and a section dedicated to vegan biscuits. I'm going to work my way through them all, but I decided to start with the one included below: Apple Cider Dog Biscuits.

Apple Cider Dog Biscuits
Makes ~3 dozen

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/3 cup unsweetened applesauce
1/4 cup orange juice
4 tbsp. vegan "butter"

Preheat oven to 350F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

In a medium-sized bowl, combine the flour and cinnamon, then using a fork or pastry cutter, break up the vegan "butter" into the flour - to resemble coarse meal. Just the way you'd make pie dough.

In a small bowl, whisk together the applesauce and orange juice, then pour into the flour mixture. Stir until combined, then knead gently to bring it all together.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out to about 1/4" and cut into dog bone shapes with a cookie cutter.

Bake for about 15 minutes, rotating pans halfway through. Allow to cool completely before storing in the refrigerator.

Just a few ingredients - all the stuff I have on hand in the pantry anyway - and the dough was very easy to knead and roll out. (I did omit the nutmeg - I'm not a fan, therefore Ike isn't either - and don't have any in the house.) They smelled pretty darn good in the oven, too. You'll notice that the ingredients bear a striking resemblance to those found in ordinary pie crust, and in fact, when taste-tested by us humans (something I couldn't/wouldn't do with homemade biscuits containing meat products), the consensus was that the biscuits tasted like...pie crust. Works for me! And apparently, it works for Ike, too. He snarfed some down without hesitation.

I can't wait to try the Peanut Butter Banana Biscuits. Those are for the dog, right??

Handwork

2012-01-08T09:10:00.000-06:00

Let's do some math. For the sake of my numbers-challenged brain, I'll keep it simple. We live on a 160-acre ranch. There are 6,969,600 square feet in 160 acres. There are just two of us living on this chunk of earth, yet Kel and I persist in what one local calls "handwork." That is, relying on our own arms, hands, legs and energy to do both light and heavy lifting around those 160 acres. We do not own an ATV nor a bulldozer nor a back hoe. We have shovels, rakes and various kinds of clippers and saws. There is a big John Deere tractor in the barn and a couple of lawnmowers, but they are employed only occasionally. Kel and I really prefer to walk the ranch and get after some kinds of work without benefit of machine. Ask us how we feel about that idea in ten years...

One of the things we do by hand is cut down cedar trees. I know, it sounds sacrilegious to hack down trees and in many instances, that is the correct assumption. Here, however, cedars are considered an invasive species. They pop up like, well, weeds - with the help of birds snacking on the blue berries that appear in the fall. There are clusters of cedar trees in various stages of growth around older trees: birds sit in the branches and the seeds drop and the seeds germinate. Cedars are also water gluttons. In a parched land, the water needs to go to the species that really need it: the grass in the pasture, the stately oaks and the elegant pecans. And finally, cedar trees harbor ticks. There shall be no safe harbor for ticks while we have something to say about it.

So we are making our way around our 160 acres. On foot, with clippers in hand. Kel and go around snipping little cedar tree babies and sawing down the older ones. Luckily for us, once snipped a cedar does not grow back. We've made noticeable progress, but the work is never-ending. I find it strangely satisfying - not only cutting the trees, but seeing the piles of dead cedars which become dens for rabbits and opossums and armadillos and who knows what other creatures. And now Kel and I both intimately know each and every one of our 6,969,600 feet.

BESTeam Feature: Fairy Tales

2012-01-04T08:44:00.000-06:00

As I've written about before on this blog, I grew up on a steady, self-fed diet of Grimm's fairy tales. The two big cloth-bound books of colorfully illustrated fairy tales - full of goblins, ogres, princesses, evil stepmothers and both benevolent and mischievous witches - are well-worn testaments to the power of good storytelling. The Brothers Grimm were teaching right and wrong through morality tales and scaring the pants off of kids through their collected works long before Walt Disney tarted up Cinderella. Many of the stories the Grimms collected predate them by hundreds of years.

The selection of crafts below from my teammates at Poison Garden, Sandy Vern's Handmade Soaps and Things, Absolutely Kismet and KC Dragonfly would make for fine props, tokens and talismans for the characters in that populate these classic tales.

Poison Garden
Shop || Blog || Tumblr

Vintage || Victorian || Steampunk || Whimsical || Romantic || Gothic

Many a long year afterwards there came a King's son into that country, and heard an old man tell how there should be a castle standing behind the hedge of thorns, and that there a beautiful enchanted Princess named Rosamond had slept for a hundred years, and with her the King and Queen, and the whole court. The old man had been told by his grandfather that many Kings' sons had sought to pass the thorn-hedge, but had been caught and pierced by the thorns, and had died a miserable death. Then said the young man, "Nevertheless, I do not fear to try; I shall win through and see the lovely Rosamond." The good old man tried to dissuade him, but he would not listen to his words.

- from The Sleeping Beauty

Queen of Hearts Choker.

Victorian Dream Meditation Pillow.

Sandy Vern
Shop || Blog

Small Batch Soaps || Lip Balms || Lotions || Earrings || Stitch Markers

The girl, however, would not turn back at her parents' command, but went to the Witch's house. When she arrived there the woman asked her, "Why are you so pale?"
"Ah," replied she, trembling all over, "I have frightened myself so with what I have just seen."
"And what did you see?" inquired the old Witch.
"I saw a dark man on your steps."
"That was the collier," replied she.
"Then I saw a gray man."
"That was a sportsman," said the old woman.
"After him I saw a blood-red man."
"That was a butcher," replied the woman.
"But oh, I was most terrified," continued the girl, "when I peeped through your window, and saw not you, but a creature with a fiery head."
"Then you have seen the Witch in her proper dress," said the old woman. "For you I have long waited, and now you shall give me light." So saying, she changed the girl into a block of wood, and then threw it into the fire; and when it was fully alight she sat down on the hearth, warmed herself, and said, "Ah, now for once it burns brightly!"

- from The Old Witch

Witchy Earrings.

Ravenclaw House Soap.

Absolutely Kismet

Shop || Blog || Facebook

Custom Design || Hemp & Bead Jewelry || Stitch Markers || Wine Charms

He saw very well that he could not escape death. He sat for a while very sorrowfully, then suddenly felt in his pocket and found his tobacco pipe, which was still half full. "This shall be my last pleasure," thought he, pulled it out, lit it at the blue light and began to smoke. When the smoke had circled the cavern, suddenly a little dwarf stood before him, and said, "Lord, what are your commands?" "What commands have I to give you?" replied the soldier, quite astonished. "I must do everything you bid me," said the little man. "Good," said the soldier; "then in the first place help me out of this well."

- from The Blue Light

Red-Orange Glass Pendant.

Shell Casing Wine Charm.

KC Dragonfly
Shop || Blog || Twitter || Facebook || Website

Goth || Cosplay || Wedding Accessories || Jewelry || Stockings

The horses hurried away to the magic castle as if the wind had been harnessed to the carriage. The illuminated windows already shone in the distance. When they drove past the lime tree, countless glow-worms were swarming about it. It shook the branches, and set forth their fragrance. On the steps flowers were blooming, and the rooms echoed with the song of strange birds, but in the hall the entire court was assembled, and the priest was waiting to marry the bridegroom to the true bride.

- from The True Bride

Black & Lilac Parasol.

Pixie Necklace.

Descent into Hell or A Trip to the DMV

2012-01-02T08:49:00.004-06:00

I happened to take a close look at my driver's license the other day and noticed that four years had passed since I'd first gotten it - and it was due to expire in a month. Which meant a trip to the local DMV.

A few years ago that thought would've put me in utter, cranky despair, sunk me into a deep, black depression. If you have not had the opportunity to spend time at the DMV in our nation's capital you have missed out on one of life's more patience-challenging experiences. It is its own circle of hell. Remember the "waiting room" scene from the movie Beetlejuice?

Beetlejuice Waiting Room Scene Clip

It is a fact that you will never, ever bring the correct combination of documents with you the first time you go. After eons spent in a long, twisting line filled with grumbling citizens, the sentry at the gate will turn you back, guaranteed. Cajoling and flattery will do nothing to break the impasse: she has a heart of stone. You could have studied up on the accepted list of documents listed on the DMV website, but alas, that will have done you no good. It's nothing less than a shell game. Best to bring along a passport or two, letters of recommendation from friends in high places, various unopened bills, elementary school report cards, a birth certificate, of course (don't even think about bringing a copy), a note from your mother, your Sam's Club membership card and a bouquet of flowers (better hope you bring her favorites) for the sentry. She'll fix you and your pathetic pile of paper with a hard, beady stare and if you're lucky, motion you through. Do not hesitate. Grab the detritus of your life and go.

Once past this first line of defense be prepared to wait. Your tender buttocks will be resting in chairs the hardness of which would challenge the Buddha's peace of mind. You will be waiting with the masses: the tired, the unwashed, the mumbling and the yearning. Numbers and letters - the meaning of which will forever be obscured to you - will flash from time to time from various screens around the waiting area. Although there are plenty of "service" windows, most of them remain devoid of anyone looking remotely work-oriented behind them. Instead you will witness much scurrying just beyond the windows coupled with a determined avoidance of eye contact.

When you finally reach a hallowed window your waiting is not over. Your papers will be scrutinized with a dedication last seen by a scientist peering into his microscope. There will be shuffling. Undoubtedly your attendee will come across something for which he or she has never encountered and so managers, supervisors and co-workers must be summoned for whispered consultation. For a while, it looks as if you will be turned away yet again. Finally, however, papers are stamped, information has been verified, fingerprints scanned and eye tests given. It remains only to exchange legal tender for the small rectangle of plastic.

Thankfully those days are behind me. The DMV in town is located in a small white building with blue shutters. It shares space with a home health care business. A kindly older woman waits behind the counter. She actually smiles and makes small talk. Around the holidays she wears those splashy sweaters sewn with things that sparkle. Photos of her children and grandchildren are taped to the wall behind her. There is a lighted potpourri candle and jars of honey for sale. When she has an errand that calls her away from behind the counter, a handwritten sign is posted on the door, such as: "went to OKC to get stitches out. be back tomorrow." She works with a calm efficiency reminiscent of a mime effortlessly juggling plates and balls. No sentry. No flashing signs with numbers and letters. Just friendly service. Washington, DC could learn a thing or two.

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T08:19:00.000-06:00

This year I've heard a lot of this kind of thing: I'm not one for resolutions, so this year I'm not making any. I'm definitely in this camp as well. I don't make bargains with myself. If I want to do something, I'll just do it. It's enough for me to have general goals - pliable and soft as bread dough - and of those, I have many. The trick is to not let my goals run roughshod over my sanity...

2011 had its share of ups and downs for me and my family, but the good things definitely outweighed the bad and this is a ratio with which I can live; I should be so fortunate in years to come. I am fully aware of how lucky I am and I try (though I don't always succeed) to be appreciative of that fact. I have a loving, funny and patient life partner, a supportive family and a loyal cast of friends. Raw nature and beautiful scenery are the backdrop to my days; a stranger in the form of a small dog walked out of the woods and changed our lives for the better; and I'm able to spend my time doing the things I love: baking, cooking, creating, reading and walking the fields and woods. You see what I mean about being lucky?

I heard this recently and it made sense - simple and obvious - yet still it can escape us: "Be nice. Don't lie." For goals, this seems like one to practice every single day.

Wishing everyone a 2012 filled with new discoveries, friends, family and much happiness!

Game Cam

2011-12-30T07:44:00.000-06:00

My mom sent Kel and me a wildlife (aka "game") camera as a Christmas present when we first moved to Oklahoma and wondered what kind of creatures were roaming about at night while we were fast asleep. We had all manner of challenges trying to work with it - from figuring out how to put the batteries in, to programming it, to setting it up and then retrieving the photos.

We thought we'd get shots of coyotes, fox, bobcats or maybe even the elusive prairie YetiFoot, but instead we got lots of blurry photos of munching cows (with eyes illuminated like flashbulbs), curious turkeys and too many photos to count of our puzzled faces peering into the lens: is this thing ON?

And then one day it inexplicably died and we put it on a shelf hoping that it would repair itself. When it didn't, Kel researched and got another. And it's a snazzy one. It's got your date and time of course, but it also notes the phase of the moon and records the temperature. The scary part is - we didn't program in any of that stuff. As Kel would say, it's become...self-aware.

Its inaugural evening out in the night, we set it up by the birdfeeders which see heavy traffic day and night (seriously, it's amazing the number of animals that live off of black oil sunflower seeds). It's like a Sapp Brother's Truck Stop out there. We came up with about 15 photos of Mr. Skunk in various eating and sniffing postures. He stuck around pretty much all night. He's a real Hoover when it comes to sucking up those seeds. Anyway, he must've wondered why occasionally there would be a bright flash - but it didn't seem to slow him down one bit.

We will continue to set up the camera most nights. If we keep at it, odds are something truly interesting will wander in front of the lens and get blinded by a searing flash of light. Let's just hope we have the courage to see whatever it is that will be revealed.

Today's Dough: Maple Walnut Wheat with Dried Cherries

2011-12-29T09:41:00.000-06:00

I learned something the other day. Cinnamon is a major yeast-inhibitor. Not the most earth-shattering of revelations, but it kinda knocked me for a small loop. Turns out if you put more than a 1/2 teaspoon or so in your dough, you're slowing down the little yeasty critters and reducing the rise. Best to go light on mixing in the cinnamon or add it via a swirl a la cinnamon rolls.

I had this fact in mind when I put together this whole wheat bread. I kept to the recommended amount, and let the dough rise slowly for a long period of time. I got a beautiful first and second rise and the smell emanating from the oven during baking...let's just say, you'll need never go back to Cinnabon.

A soft, imminently toastable bread stuffed with plump tart cherries and crunchy toasted walnuts - this is a simple recipe with a dough that's very easy with which to work. For the recipe, please visit An Unrefined Vegan.

BESTeam Feature: Sizzling Hot

2011-12-28T07:34:00.000-06:00

As part of my BESTeam commitment, once per week I will be posting short features of several of the fabulous shops and talented artisans who comprise the team. What is BESTeam? It's The Boosting Etsy Shops Team and our goal is to give support to each other and to help promote each others' Etsy shops through blogging, Facebook and other social networks. If you are an Etsy shopowner and are interested in learning more about BESTeam, please visit the team page on Etsy or have a look at the BESTeam blog.

Despite a good, solid childhood raised in the Snow Belt of northeastern Ohio, I never developed much of an immunity to cold weather. It didn't seem to matter how many layers of clothing and coats I wore - I was always cold. I much preferred summer activities to winter ones. As I get older, the cold gets more difficult to handle - at least from a psychological perspective. I can tell myself that I am lucky to experience four distinct seasons; that the winter landscape and colors offer their own unique beauty and that trees and plants need this time to work on their foundation - their roots. Yet, each winter I feel my resistance to the cold dwindling a little bit. Some remedies are to surround myself with space heaters and to wear long johns all of the time...but, I also like to have bright, cheerful colors around me. Each one of these items from my BESTeam teamies were chosen for their bursting, warming colors. Enjoy the toasty glow!

Knitful Dezigns

Veronica Grace's shop is overflowing with exuberance, creativity and life. She has a plethora of bows, hats, scrubs and headbands in a myriad of colors along with absolutely adorable, cuddle-worthy creatures - all hand-knitted. Have something specific in mind? Contact Grace and she can work with you to make your vision a reality.

Mini Felt Bow in Pumpkin Orange.

Big Yellow Rosette.

Shop || Blog || Facebook || Twitter

Riorita

Irith. Lucky Irith. When I think of her I think of hot sun, sand, blue sky, blue water. Can you see both of these sets of earrings paired with beautiful, simple beach dresses? A stroll along the beach sounds absolutely divine. No doubt she is deeply inspired by the proximity of the Mediterranean to her studio.

Sterling Silver Gold-plated Hoops.

Gold-plated Earrings with Peridot.

Shop || Blog || Website

Redemption Art

And since we are talking about living in paradise...Connie may find me on her doorstep one February, suitcase and sunhat in hand. Besides enjoying the warm sun and the beautiful scenery of Hawaii, I'd love to accompany Connie on one of her treasure hunts through the markets and vintage shops. She truly has something for everyone for sale at Redemption Art. While you're browsing, be sure to stop by Connie's other shop, Volcano Girl Creations.

Vintage Hawaiian Flower Earrings.

Vintage Cocktail Dress.

Shop || Blog || Facebook || Twitter

The Orange Windmill

Shirley - living in Canada - just might want to join me on my trip to Hawaii. Or she might be one of those lucky people who enjoy cold and snowy winters. Shirley's leather journals (in all sizes and colors - including these bright orange and yellow ones) truly embody the word hand-crafted. From cutting the leather to individually tearing the sheets to binding the books - she does it all. I can't think of a more beautiful place in which to voice one's thoughts.

Orange Hand-bound Leather Journal, 4.5 x 6.

Golden Hand-bound Leather Journal, 4.5 x 6.

Shop || Blog || Facebook || Twitter

Part of the Pack

2011-12-27T07:36:00.000-06:00

Just up the hill from my small Georgetown apartment was a large park with several grassy areas, tennis courts and woods with a stream running through it where one could take a break from the concrete. No surprise that it was a popular place for the local residents to bring their dogs. In the early mornings and in the early evenings, the park was filled with running, catching, barking and fetching dogs - and their humans.

Unaccompanied by a canine companion, I could walk through the park as if invisible. On the few occasions when I had custody of a friend's dogs, however, suddenly I became quite noticeable. The leash, the collar, the wagging tails were my passport, the secret handshake that grants entrance into the private club. Fellow dog walkers and owners came over to say hello and chat. With two dogs trotting close to my heels, I was immediately embraced within the doggy community. The only thing more effective at attracting attention would've been pushing a carriage with a cute baby in it.

Something similar and equally interesting has happened now that Kel and I are dog owners. We do not have a public park nearby to take Ike to, but when we bring him with us on errands, people want to come over and meet him (it doesn't seem to matter that Ike really isn't interested in meeting them). Saying hello to Ike is an introduction to us and usually the segue into a long conversation.

Doggy aunts and uncles have appeared out of the woodwork. Friends and family members keep telling us how happy they are that we finally have a dog. They sound almost relieved. Most can't believe it took us so long. How could we live on a big ranch and not have a dog - and if not a dog, at least a pet of some kind? What, exactly, had been wrong with us? Unbeknownst to us (but common knowledge to everyone else, apparently) something big had been missing from our lives. Suddenly, Kel and I, by the simple virtue of having Ike, somehow became more human.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-24T09:24:00.000-06:00

I'll be taking a couple of days off from writing Triple D to spend some quality time with my baking sheets, mixing bowls and pots and pans - and with Kel and Ike, too, of course. There's gingerbread cake to be made, a vegan brioche stuffed with mushrooms and wild rice to assemble and a sweet potato-pumpkin-pecan pie to ready for the oven.

Thank you so much for sharing some of your precious time with me over the past six or so months. It's been a pleasure reading your comments, exploring your blogs and getting to know you. Wishing you all a beautiful, family-filled, delicious, peaceful and happy Christmas.

It's Warm in the Kitchen

2011-12-23T09:56:00.000-06:00

The Winter 2011 Issue.

My quarterly issue of King Arthur Flour's The Baking Sheet arrived today in the mail - and that's always a good day. I look forward to brewing a cup of tea and sitting at the kitchen table leafing through the slim volume. I always see one or two recipes that I immediately want to try: drop everything, roll up my sleeves, grab the mixing bowls, pile the ingredients on the counter and get baking. Most of the recipes are not exactly vegan-friendly - The Baking Sheet loves its dairy and meat - but they are mostly adaptable. The Winter issue has a hearty white bean and sausage stew (vegetable broth and seitan sausage could be handily substituted), an intriguing yeasted gingerbread loaf and in the "must try immediately" category: tangzhong bread. Huh? Yeast rolls stuffed with cranberries and honey (agave nectar or maple syrup ought to make good substitutes). I'm a pushover for anything combining bread and a sweet filling.

Sesame seed and poppy seed bagels.

Although I bake quite a lot throughout the year - we buy zero commercial baked goods (just try to find the words "whole grain" in my town) and both Kel and I are carb junkies, so you can see where the math gets you - but when the weather turns cold and cloudy, I love nothing more than to get into the kitchen, tie on a well-worn (stained) apron and bake. It's the days when I don't have to bake anything,that are the most relaxing and enjoyable. Considering the good smells and tastes emanating from kitchens, it's small wonder that they tend to be the congregation spots for family and friends.

Cornell Bread.

Although I do return to certain tried-and-true recipes (braided walnut bread, applesauce bread, bagels, pitas) I get restless repeating myself and since there are thousands, tens of thousands of wonderful-sounding, challenging recipes out there in the world for breads, cookies, cakes, bars and other baked goods, my inclination is to keep trying new things. And if there is something a little bit different about the recipe - be it a pretty twist, knot or enticing ingredient - I'm even more intrigued.

Kaiser rolls.

One problem I run into during heavy bouts of bread making is that the freezer becomes filled from top to bottom. The solution is that every once in a while we have to "eat out of the freezer" for a few weeks - and then the cycle repeats itself. An enjoyable Sisyphean task. Will there ever be enough time to try all of the tantalizing bready recipes out there? No. But I'll sure have fun trying.

A Flea in Winter

2011-12-22T08:03:00.000-06:00

Marke but this flea, and marke in this,
How little that which thou deny'st me is;
Me it suck'd first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled bee;

- From The Flea, by John Donne

I awoke the other morning to discover a bright red constellation of bumps all over my back and a sprinkling of the same on my legs. Uh oh. The moment I saw them, they immediately commenced to a terrible itching. It's bloody cold outside, I thought, what on earth could be biting me? By rights, all biting critters should have been wiped out by the killing frosts that have swept through the state. They tortured me all summer, the wretches, couldn't they leave me in peace for a few months?

As I pondered the origin of the bumps, a terrible image intruded into my thoughts. A specter so awful as to make me want to run and hide from the mere idea. Once thought, it could not be un-thought - and it suddenly seemed so obvious. I remembered that a few weeks back I had stayed at a hotel...and some hotels are now apparently the safe haven of those most heinous and skulking and cowardly of creatures; the blood-sucking succubi, the disturber of peaceful slumber: the lowly bed bug. Could I have unwittingly freighted the fiends back in my suitcase to Oklahoma?? No! Just a few days prior to acquiring my scarlet road map of bites, a friend had told me that she herself was reeling from an infestation of the parasites and that she was in the midst of banishing them from house and home. The coincidence of the thing! Could it be that I too had fallen prey?!

In between scratching, I began to research my enemy. Bed bug sites abound on the internet. First I did a quick check on BedBugRegistry.com. The hotel had not been sited for bed bugs. Phew. I learned about the hallmark sign of the bedbug, the tell-tale "breakfast, lunch & dinner" bites: three bumps in a neat row. I found out that 60% of people bitten have no reaction at all - but for those that do - well, let's just say that the photos were not pretty. I learned that they can go long periods between feasts and that they scuttle off to dark corners come morning or bright flashlight - as if ashamed of their own handiwork.

I peered into the deep pile of the carpet; I lifted pillows and checked our bedding: all looked innocent. And then I checked the sheets again. I was just about to holler 'nuff when something told me to take a closer look. And that's when I saw it. Something small and brown and moving and dare I say, hungry-looking. I called for the magnifying glass. I called for back-up. I peered into the thick glass. The hideous creature loomed large and distorted and then, sensing the game was over, it leapt with all of its might to escape my gaze and my grasp. And that's when it revealed its true nature to me. Not a bed bug, but its wretched but more easily exterminatable cousin: the flea.

Do not ask me how a flea came to reside alongside us in bed. No doubt he hitched a ride on Ike's toasty body and finding the temperature in the house quite to his liking, decided to set up shop and get to work. It was his undoing. With a movement as swift as a sword raking through the air, I snatched the interloper and sent him swirling down the sink drain. Take that you robber, you thief! Be gone from here and trouble us humans no more! I hope you remembered your life jacket!

BESTeam Feature: All Over the Map

2011-12-21T08:04:00.000-06:00

GMaEllen Crochet Gifts

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Ellen takes the art of crocheting to a different level. She crafts wrist warmers, wine cozies, shopping bags, rugs, cell phone charms, snuggly throws for cold nights, earrings, ornaments - and bookmarks and clutch bags like the two items below - whew - I know I've probably missed a few things! From the variety of selections in her shop, it doesn't appear she'll be slowing down any time soon.

Fudge Brown Bookmark with Stone.

Lilac Rag Clutch.

Beader Bubbe

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Black and white are a classic together, of course, and this uniquely-shaped pendant would be a great accent for a sleek black and white outfit. The green drop earrings have a very appealing tactile quality and I love their speckled, rustic glaze. Despite her busy mom-grandma-and-working life, Agnes finds time to devote to her love of and passion for making jewelry.

Black & White Pendant.

Green Drop Earrings.

Stitch Princess

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When I went 'round to visit with the Stitch Princess, I was not expecting to see the large selection of downloadable photographs! They're amazing - and just up my alley because they are all nature-related. And when I saw this sweet red party dress, it had to be included in my "all over the map" collection. By the way, you can customize this dress and any of the others at Faith's shop. If you're looking for hand sewn clothing or something bold and beautiful for your wall, check out Stitch Princess.

Downloadable Digital Photo: Bee on Flowers.

Customizable High-Necked Party Dress.

Joy Handpainted Silk

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I have a tendency towards green-colored items. I gravitate towards it again and again: in clothing, dishes, paint, artwork... Green can be warm, bright, fresh, sensuous and rich. Kind of describes the beautiful work at Joy Handpainted Silk. These two items immediately caught my eye (I have green eyes, by the way). Don't you think they'd look gorgeous together?

Hand-painted Charmeuse Silk Scarf in Absinthe.

Peacock Feather Shell Pendant.

Today's Dough: Onion & Walnut-Stuffed Beer Bread

2011-12-20T07:45:00.000-06:00

This just might be the bread - a mix of rye and whole wheat white flours - that accompanies Christmas dinner (whatever that turns out to be...) since the dough can be put together days ahead of time and cool its heels in the refrigerator. The flavor just gets better with time. The onion-rosemary filling can also be made ahead of time - or the bread can be baked up without filling. It makes for yummy toast or sandwich bread.

I'm going to fill the other half of the dough with a combination of unsweetened applesauce, cinnamon, maple sugar, golden raisins and toasted walnuts. Sounds like Christmas morning breakfast. For the (easy) recipe, please visit An Unrefined Vegan.

Lost...and Found

2011-12-19T07:46:00.000-06:00

We took a walk into the woods to enjoy the beautiful late afternoon sunlight and warmth, crunched through the fallen leaves and ducked under branches with Ike and Winston running erratically ahead, exploring. We climbed up a small, rocky ridge and started to come back down when I said, "Look for that rock with the grinding holes in them - - " and no sooner had I said it then Kel was bending down and wiping wet leaves off of the surface of a large, flat boulder.

Sure enough, he'd found the grinding rock. Further proof of finding when not seeking. One of the holes is about 5" in diameter and 4" or so deep. Moss has crept to the edge of it as if peering in. The other hole was filled to the top with years of leaves - blackened and turning soupy at the bottom. It is probably 6" in diameter and maybe 10" deep. A well-used spot. I'm so glad that the grinding rock hadn't vanished after all.

When we'd cleared away the debris, Winston climbed onto the rock and dipped his head down into the large hole and drank up the water that had collected at the bottom.

(The original post about this rock, The Point of Rocks, can be found here.)

Oklahoma Rose: Under the Mistletoe

2011-12-18T08:53:00.000-06:00

There isn't much time to spare until Christmas. I must put into motion my diabolical plans to lure Kel under the mistletoe for a kiss, perhaps even under all of the mistletoe, but considering that Oklahoma trees are lousy with the stuff, it could take a while for us to make the complete rounds of the ranch. I'm not complaining; somebody has got to do it. Balls of mistletoe live high up in the branches of winged elms, bois d'arc and just about any other kind of tree on which their seeds find themselves perched.

Until we moved out here and saw it for ourselves, mistletoe had always been for me a questionable, bogus entity - a mythical plant; a fantasy product of Christmas and Christmas carols, bad jokes and awkward moments at holiday parties. Who knew that it was an actual plant, a parasite, no less - that siphons off the water and nutrients (though it handles photosynthesis all by itself) of its host trees, thereby stalling the trees' growth? Sounds romantic, doesn't it? Admittedly, it is rather pretty, with bright green, succulent leaves that grow in a neat ball. It looks like a strange extension of the tree itself, artificially robust and healthy amidst the drab decay of winter all around it.

(As pretty as it is, don't be tempted to toss mistletoe leaves in with your salad greens. Eating it causes severe GI and stomach distress, [ahem] diarrhea and low pulse rate.)

Mistletoe isn't all bad. Turns out a large number of animals depend on the leaves, shoots, berries and seeds. In fact, it's the seeds that pass through a bird's system and land on branches that sprout and become new mistletoe plants. (Mistel is Anglo-Saxon for "dung," and tan or tang - from which "toe" derived - means "twig," so mistletoe is "dung on a twig." Lovely imagery there.) Some birds even use mistletoe plants as a place to build their nests.

This hemi-parasitic plant can be found in Europe, North America and Australia and it boasts hundreds of different species. Despite its poisonous tendencies, you can find mistletoe extracts and solutions in the world of homeopathics as an aid in respiratory and circulatory ailments. There has even been research into its use as a cancer cure, but results have not been promising. Unless you are Suzanne Somers.

One last tidbit of information. Mistletoe, a variety known as the Oklahoma Rose, is the official "floral emblem" of this here fine state. Now - there's no time to waste! I'm off to find Kel and entice him to take a walk with me under the mistletoe.

(All the botany stuff came from Wikipedia. Where would my blog be without Wikipedia?!)

Getting Lost: A Christmas Memory

2011-12-16T08:51:00.002-06:00

It was Christmas Break during my freshman year in college and after a mere 3 months on my own, I was feeling quite confident and independent and adult, so when my mom suggested that my older brother and I drive out to the tree farm in northeastern Ohio to cut down an evergreen for the holiday - the farm where we had for years been harvesting our family tree - I assured everyone that I knew exactly where the farm was located; no need for written directions or anything so superfluous as a map. It was, I told them, impossible for us to get lost.

My brother was entrusted with a saw and the keys to the big gray van which had been emptied of its maroon-colored passenger seats in anticipation for the beautiful, fat evergreen we would soon be loading into it. Our journey began on the back roads of rural Ohio. Thin dirt roads crusted with ice and snow that refused to melt and lined on either side by tall, bare hardwoods. We cruised through Amish country and rolling brown hills dotted with big barns and clean white houses with the curtains hung diagonally across the windows. It was a frigid, gray, dull day and despite the cranking heater in the van, we were chilled. The cavernous van swallowed all of the warmth and left none for us.

At last we came to the divided highway that would take us past the tree farm. I knew that it would be on our left - but beyond that - I really wasn't so sure. I expected that a big sign would point us in the right direction, but as the time and miles slipped away and the sky turned a deeper gray tinged with silver, I realized that I had no idea where the tree farm was. When we drove past the Welcome to Pennsylvania sign, my heart sank and I turned to my brother with shame and embarrassment and admitted that I had gotten us lost.

Instead of being upset with me or teasing me, he simply turned the van around and headed back in the other direction. Evening was almost upon us and we knew our parents would wonder what had taken us so long. How could we return empty-handed? As we drove, we kept our eyes open for another place to stop and get a tree but suddenly the road seemed depressingly empty. Dark purple and gray appeared along the edges of the sky and just as we were about to give up hope, we spotted a small sign for "you cut" live Christmas trees. My brother turned onto the gravel road and then onto a thin driveway that took us to the front of an old farm house. A teenager came out, pulling on his coat. He led us out into the snow past rows of fledgling pine trees and farther into a field where the older trees grew tall and sturdy in neat rows.

We selected a tree and my brother got to work, lying down in the snow to get at the tree's trunk. The teenager stood with his hands deep in his pockets and watched. The wooshing sound of the saw was the only thing to be heard on that frigid early evening and after several minutes, the tree was free and we began to drag it back towards the van. My brother's coat was covered in snow on one side. We paid the young man and started back for home. I dreaded getting back and having to admit to my parents that I hadn't known where the original tree farm had been, despite my boasts.

But when we got home, my parents had not yet returned from work - my secret was safe for a while. My brother turned to me then and said, "We don't need to tell mom and dad." Relief and gratitude washed over me. I have no idea whether or not my brother finally did tell my parents, but nobody said anything to me about. As far as I knew, it remained our little Christmas secret.

BESTeam Feature: Frosted

2011-12-14T09:51:00.001-06:00

For this feature I went looking for the handmade treasures among the BESTeam shops that evoked the colors of an Oklahoma winter: soft grays, whites, ebony, purple and browns.

CK Silver

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Reminding me of the subtle colors of a frozen pond, these elegant earrings and pendant of moonstone, jasper, quartz and silver have all the sparkle a winter outfit requires. Cindy welcomes custom orders and if you're looking for a unique piece of jewelry featuring your birthstone, just ask.

Moonstone and Jasper Earrings.

Pink Quartz Flower Pendant.

Our Home to Yours
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These big, bold chunks of magnesite bring to mind snowballs. And if you're going to be tossing snowballs around, you'd best have a snuggly, warm hat like the crochet one below - in wintry cool lavender and gray. The energy and creativity of the artistic duo behind Our Home to Yours shines in their shop: scarves, hats, vintage pieces, jewelry, wreaths...

White & Purple Magnesite Necklace.

Slouchy Tam Hat.

Chicky D's
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I love the crisp look of these bows by Danielle - so clean - like a fresh snowfall against the backdrop of dark trees. The hint of color on the two small bows provides a much-needed burst of warmth on a wintry day. Danielle also takes gorgeous photographs which you can find at her other shop, Danizabeth.

Black & White Stacked Bow Headband.

Mini Bows in Black, White & Hot Pink.

Blue White Wear

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Cool, cool pearls in organic, natural shapes: the earrings could be drifts of windblown snow. The delicate necklace - like fragile ice crystals - in freshwater pearls would make a lovely companion piece to the earrings. For unique East-meets-West bracelets, earrings and necklaces, stop by Blue White Wear.

Cascading Pearl Earrings.

Pearls & Pendant Necklace.

PB & J

2011-12-13T08:53:00.000-06:00

Peanut butter was a big part of my childhood. A few times a week I would find a peanut butter and jelly (usually grape or raspberry) sandwich in the small brown paper bag I carried each day to school. More often than not, sadly, the sandwich bore the heavy and round concavity of the orange that was also in the bag - no doubt because I'd stuffed my lunch into my locker without a thought. Being a child who liked things "just so," I would nibble around the edges of the smooshed, bruised-looking circle and then go digging into the bag for the cookies.

Then I'd get home from school with the hunger of a tiger cub and out would come the jar of peanut butter and the loaf of bread.

One would think after 40-odd years or so I would've grown tired of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but that's not the case. Vegans have a tough go of it in Oklahoma, so if I know I'll be on the road around mealtime, a PB & J comes along for the ride. Sometimes I just get a powerful craving for one. My sandwich has evolved slightly since the 6th grade, however. Instead of Jif or Skippy, I use natural, unsweetened peanut butter; I prefer tart cherry jam to the overly sweet grape variety and my bread is no longer white, but whole grain, providing a structurally more sound bread than the flimsy white stuff. Perhaps even sturdy enough to support the weight of an orange inside a small, brown paper bag.

The sandwich pictured above was lovingly constructed with a flavorful and soft cracked wheat bread. You will find the recipe for it on my sister site, An Unrefined Vegan. Pair it scrumptiously with PB & J, spread hummus on it, dip into soups or eat straight up.

The Point of Rocks

2011-12-11T09:41:00.001-06:00

In the early spring of our first year in Oklahoma, when the trees were still bare, but the air had the sweet smell of impending new life, the previous owner of our ranch came over for a visit and took us to a spot near a small spring where there was a flat rock once used by Native Americans as a grinding stone. Sure enough, the otherwise inauspicious-looking rock had the unmistakable marks of man's hand. There were two shallow, smooth indentations worked into the rock, one slightly deeper than the other. How many years had it taken to engrave those marks? It felt slightly surreal to run my hands into the hollows, imagining others sitting where I was, imagining kernels of corn slowly pulverized into meal. I've tried many times to find the grinding rock again, but have failed. The old man had taken us right to it without a second's hesitation. It seems to have vanished into the woods; under the deepening pile of fallen leaves and the thick, tenacious vines with wicked thorns. History slipping away.

The ranch is full of rocks and stones, of course. Mostly crumbly sandstone covered in carpets of moss in an array of complex, luxuriant greens. There is a long outcropping of rocks, a thick, broken seam that runs across our property. We learned that long ago, maybe 50 or 60 years ago, rock was quarried from the ranch and used to build the local high school stadium. Looking at the size of the structure it's surprising that any rocks remain here on the land. It's an impressive if inelegant stadium, rough and sturdy, with colors ranging from deep brown to rust to burnished gold. The raw rocks hewn and hauled and fitted into place to fit our needs. The hand of man touching stone.

New Greeting Card: Sprinkles

2011-12-10T08:48:00.000-06:00

At Christmastime in our household there were generally two kinds of cookies being baked: buttery, swirled spritz in pale greens, reds and yellow that were made with a copper-colored contraption with a handle and discs that you placed in the end to get various shapes; and flat sugar cookies cut into candy canes, stars and Christmas trees. These we layered with sugary icing in different colors and topped with either tiny edible gold and silver balls or with sprinkles. Some sprinkles ended up where they belonged - on the cookie - but a good many of them ended up on the counter, stuck to our fingers and all over the floor.

Though my favorite cookies to consume (and indeed, I could have easily consumed my weight in them) were the spritzs, the decorated sugar cookies were a necessary element of the holiday and were fun to make.

It's hard to believe that Christmas is now a mere 15 days away! My latest, and last card for the 2011 Holiday Season is my homage to the sugar cookie: Sprinkles. There's still time to order Christmas cards from Empty on the Inside! Hand-painted cards make for extra special greetings.

A Greenhouse Update

2011-12-09T09:27:00.000-06:00

While it's not quite the right temperature for the lounge chair and bathing suit, stepping into the greenhouse on a cold but sunny day is a little like stepping off of an airplane that took you (wrapped in your warmest coat, hat and gloves) from a Cleveland February to the Florida Keys. The feeling is one of liberation and nearly instantaneous relaxation. Warm, moist air greets you as you open the door and step inside. The smell of plants growing - the fragrance of moss - fills your nose. Coat, hat and gloves come off.

But there is serious, if slow, work going on. We now have three raised beds constructed of recycled cinder blocks with various kinds of greens growing in them (and I think some radishes) and numerous potted plants that spent the summer outdoors. They are all in somewhat of a time warp. The winter sun is weak and the daytime warmth is fleeting and evaporates overnight. A tray of basil seems content to stay in miniature and three lemons have hovered between dark green and pale yellow for weeks and weeks.

One thing is for sure - the greenhouse extends our growing season. In a few weeks, we should be enjoying fresh baby greens and maybe a radish or two. If not, at least the greenhouse is a good place in which to hide from the wind and cold of winter.

Basil, a few days old.

Happy parsley.

Beds newly planted.

Baby greens.

Today's Dough: Rosemary Whole Wheat Rolls

2011-12-08T08:58:00.000-06:00

This post is for my friend, Lynn, who made the mistake of mentioning to me that she was contemplating baking bread. That was all I needed (no pun intended) to hear. Being a bread junkie and baking enthusiast who wants to convert as many people as possible to the joys of yeast + wheat + water, I fired off a recipe for a no-knead recipe. But I immediately had regrets...Email in haste, repent at leisure. I sent Lynn a King Arthur Flour recipe for a no-knead boule calling for all white flour. Oh, the shame! I can do better, Lynn!

This wonderful recipe is just as easy as the one I sent, but it's a compromise between 100% whole wheat and 100% white flour. The dough can be used to make loaves, baguettes, sandwich- or dinner-sized rolls. Lynn, if you're reading this, go over to An Unrefined Vegan for the recipe. Oh, and everyone else is invited to give it a try, too. It's simple to make and delicious to consume.

New Greeting Card: String of Lights

2011-12-07T08:58:00.000-06:00

Told you I was busy making Christmas cards!

The typical American Christmas tree: loaded down with a mish-mash of sparkly stars, red and green and silver globes, an heirloom or two, clumsily-fashioned and slightly crumpled paper chains from first grade, strings of beads, bursts of tinsel (most of which end up on the rug), that one extra-special-don't-even-think-about-dropping-it glass star and - the copious ropes of lights whose twisted puzzle of cord and bulb try the patience of many a saintly parent.

But without the lights the fragrant symbol of Christmas remains simply a pine tree with shiny things hanging from it. The lights made the tree - in my childish estimation - and plugging that cord in and seeing the tree assume its new glowing persona was as magical as the first snow of the season or the appearance on Christmas morning of piles of presents where once there were none.

For the most part, the iconic lights from my childhood have been replaced by the tiny, unassuming string of lights available at every Walmart, grocery store, convenience store and drugstore on the planet. The bigger bulbs from yesteryear were ridiculously fragile, prone to getting frighteningly hot and cumbersome to pack and store - but once aglow they adorned a tree with magic.

Find my String of Lights card at Empty on the Inside.

27 Feels Like 18

2011-12-06T11:36:00.000-06:00

It's Tuesday morning...cloudy, gray and cold: 27 degrees but "feelslike" 18. It would have been a perfect morning to ignore the alarm,burrow deeper under the covers and sleep in, but the call of the treadmill wastoo strong and anyway I could hear Ike's collar jangling which means he'stelling me that he has urgent matters to address OUTSIDE.

I pile on threelayers plus an over-sized down coat that I bought while living in Moscow (itdid nothing to insulate me from the Russian-style winter, but works well here),two hats and Thinsulate gloves. Grab Ike's treats and his leash just in case he getsthe idea that the cows need herding. (I explain over and over to him what cows are and how allthey really want to do is graze and that they are perfectly welcome to be wherethey are, doing what they are doing. And anyway, they were here first.) Winston joins us as usual, his own doggy alarm clock telling him to come over from next door. And aftergiving them a good, long walk over the frozen fields - and after feeding the birds and filling various water bowls - we are all ready for breakfast. Ike getshis special corn- and wheat-free food and Winston gets a big bowl of Ol' Roy alfresco.

For me, because of the extenuating circumstances, breakfast called forsomething more robust and comforting than the usual weekday fare. It called for chocolate. Andpancakes. And warm tart cherries. Luckily I had a batch of just what I needed in the freezer: whole wheat chocolate chip pancakes, and some dried cherry-apricot compote in the refrigerator. If this sounds like breakfast comfort food to you, you can find the recipe for both the pancakes and the compote on my vegan blog, An Unrefined Vegan.

And now, three stomachs contented, we can face the rest of this cold, cold day with grace and courage. As long as we know a good lunch is coming.

New Greeting Card: Love Your Mother

2011-12-05T08:53:00.000-06:00

In the midst of thinking about, sketching and painting seasonally-appropriate greeting cards, i.e., Christmas cards - I suddenly thought of...Mother's Day. May, flowers, hearts. Mom. I have no idea where this thought came from, but I decided to go with it. Inspired by the iconic "mom" tattoo (which I've never actually see on anyone's bicep, BTW), I came up with my latest card called, Love Your Mother. It would work just as well for mom's birthday as for Mother's Day.

(A brief digression: Speaking from personal experience, if you're thinking of getting a tattoo of any kind, chances are, your mom won't be pleased. It doesn't matter how young or old you are. You are still her baby and you shouldn't go messing around with your "perfect" skin - which, incidentally, she thinks of as hers anyway.)

Despite the fact that it's cold December and only a few weeks from Christmas, you can pick up this mom-centric card over at Empty on the Inside. If your head is wrapped up in tinsel, snow, pine trees, baking cookies, shopping-days-left and blinking lights, there are plenty of unique, hand-painted holiday-themed cards to be found as well.

Before It Snows

2011-12-04T09:25:00.000-06:00

I love an unsettled fall day, when the wind blows hard from the northeast - cold, but not yet cold. The leaves that scuttle and scratch behind me as I walk. As clattering and nearly as unnerving as a poltergeist: when you look back, you see nothing.

Sunlight is yesterday's yellow memory. Bloated, low-hanging clouds labor slowly across the sky while a plume of fast-moving and pure white clouds, like puffs from a steam engine, speed along the horizon line. Icy drops of rain tap on shoulders, the patter increasing for a brief deluge, then stopping again in an instant. Following the dog's lead I lift up my head to sniff the air. Even my ill-equipped human's nose scents intrigue on the wind.

The earth feels spongy and soft. Among the brown, dead tufts, tender and bright green blades of cold-weather grass flicker in the wind. Pairs of ducks flush from the pond, rising with squeaky protest, pulling, pulling against gravity. They circle, hoping I'll leave so they can return to the dark gray water and the reedy shelter of the rushes along the bank.

The Name Begins with the Letter W

2011-12-02T17:13:00.001-06:00

Oklahoma seems to have an inordinate number of towns beginning with the letter W: Wetumka, Weleetka, Wichita, Watonga - for a start. If they sound as if their origin is Native American, your ears haven't deceived you. Before Oklahoma became a state in 1907, it was known as the Indian Territory and then the Oklahoma Territory and was where numerous tribes found themselves after being coerced, marched, treatied, tricked and pushed out of their ancestral lands courtesy of the Indian Intercourse Act of 1834. Drive along I-40 or almost any other major road in Oklahoma and the tribe names tick off one after the other on green road signs, one reservation ceding to the next: Chickasaw, Sac-Fox, Seminole, Muscogee (Creek), Shawnee, Choctaw, Cherokee and on and on.

Not far down the road from us is another town beginning with the letter W. It's the county seat of Seminole County, but if you didn't know better, you'd expect that someday soon it would dry up and blow away, like a brittle Black Jack oak leaf in late autumn. Down Route 56 as you come into town from the north a proud stone house sits high above the road - a large estate with tall pecan trees and manicured, rolling hills that ease you towards muddy pastures where a small herd of buffalo graze alongside a couple of llamas and a few head of cattle. A half mile further and just past the bridge is a bright lime green building slowly sinking and decaying into a parking lot; it was once a Chinese restaurant. A mortuary sits across the road from it and then a gas station and a liquor store. A large cinder block building looks impenetrable until you see the huge gaping hole where the roof collapsed. At the stoplight, if you look to your right out your car window you'll see the remnants of an old motel, the open windows and doors black and empty.

On the left, an enterprising couple has renovated a 1940s era gas station and now they sell plants, fruits and vegetables. Piles of bright orange pumpkins are stacked on bales of hay. Across the way a new restaurant has opened, offering home cooked meals. There's the gun and pawn shop, another closed gas station, Moore's IGA with a nearly full parking lot and the Sonic Drive-In which is the most successful business in town. A half block further the Black Sheep Drive-In - Sonic's competition - sits abandoned, Sorry We're Closed and For Sale signs taped to the window.

There's a Daylight Donuts just past the next stoplight, then a tiny liquor store with mesh screen covering the door and windows. A neat and clean, orange-painted Mexican restaurant blinks: Open. Then the retail gives way to the residential - tiny homes, some immaculate, some threadbare - stone, clapboard and several signature Oklahoma-style houses constructed of honey-colored brick with steep-pitched roofs, gables and curved doorways that look designed for elves. There are rusting cars, heaps of garbage, dogs on chains, abandoned toys and neat gardens filled with the brown remnants of the summer garden.

This W-named town could be a stand in for dozens of Oklahoma towns that cling to existence. It eerily resembles the town I call home, also a county seat. But there is enough life yet to keep it going. The old generations linger here, unwilling or unable to relocate and the younger generations - white and Native American - stay on; family ties, the comfort of what is known and the pull of their homeland keeps them rooted here.

The Dream

2011-12-01T09:37:00.002-06:00

This story comes direct from my subconscious, in the form of one of the most vivid dreams I've ever had - in imagery, color and subject. I feel as if it wrote itself; one of those dreams that stays in your head, haunts it and demands to be felt. (Note that this is a dream within a dream - my dream was about a boy having a dream about his father.)

In his dream he sees his father riding on horseback across the fields that have taken on the bright, glowing green associated only with dreams and with afternoons that carry thick, gray storm clouds across the sky without letting them release their rain. The beautiful green fields are smooth and flow without blemish to the horizon. Even through the unbreakable drift of the dream, he - as the dreamer - feels the desire to roll down the slopes, to feel the cool grasses along his bare arms, against his face, and the hard earth beneath gently prodding him with its moist clumps along spine and shoulder blades.

But in the dreamworld, his father rides across the fields, returning home from a journey that has taken him away for many months. His jaw is covered by a thick beard, and about him seems a haze - the hesitant indefinite color of dust kicked up by a slight breeze. Soft brown dirt that has traveled the miles with him covers the horse, coats his leather chaps, his unruly hair and makes the green of the landscape seem even stronger and cleaner. His father and the horse never waver from the invisible line that brings them closer to home, but he looks more often in the direction of far off trees, and at the ripples, one after the other, of small hills.

His father rides across his land - his own land on which tree and grass are allowed to grow without limit or constraint. It is allowed this because the boy's mother would have it so, and his father loves his mother above anything else. The boy's dream progresses and the man and horse have now reached a thin dirt road that trickles into the distance. Before it disappears, it passes by a large bed of flowers. Against the glowing green, below the dark gray sky, the flowers' colors explode among the plain grasses, yellow seeming to be the brightest and the most burning, until the eye catches the flame-lick of red, then vibrating plumes of purple.

His father does not pause at the flowerbed, even though it is his wife who has loved the flowers into existence, but turns his horse onto the thin road. On his left side, the tamed arms of dozens of apple trees reach up and into thick leaves and the tiny pale buds of infant fruit grow bigger in the still of the day without the notice of the man on the horse.

The road dwindles to nothing and he is again riding on smooth grass and a slope pulling him towards his home. A breeze - nothing more than a whiff if wind - causes the boy's father to twitch his head to rid his eyes of the strands of hair that have fallen across his forehead and as he does, he sees the color gray, as brooding as the clouds, floating among the leaves. He recognizes the color instantly, the diaphanous quality of the plain fabric. It is his wife. It is his wife and she has hanged herself, dressed as a coolie, from the branches of one of her apple trees.

For a second his father's pale, pinched face is visible and then the face disappears as he turns his body and reaches for - pulls out and swings towards the body of his wife - a large, shimmering blade. The blade slices through the rope that supports the body of his wife and she falls across the brown back of the horse. The knife is disappears and the boy's father holds the quieted body of his wife as he continues riding across the green field towards home.

BesTEAM Feature: Square Deals on Handmade

2011-11-29T07:33:00.002-06:00

As part of my BesTEAM commitment, once per week I will be posting short features of several of the fabulous shops and talented artisans who comprise the team. What is BesTEAM? It's The Boosting Etsy Shops Team and our goal is to give support to each other and to help promote each others' Etsy shops through blogging, Facebook and other social networks. If you are an Etsy shopowner and are interested in learning more about BesTEAM, please visit the team page on Etsy or have a look at the BesTeam blog.

I'm an Etsy shop owner, but I'm also an Etsy shopper and several things stand out about buying from the artisans who comprise the wonderful world of Etsy. The obvious thing is that Etsy is mainly made up of goods made by hand - so you're getting something unique, one-of-a-kind; something made with love and care and passion. The variety on Etsy is simply astounding. I rediscover this every time I browse through the shops or drop a keyword into the search option. Giving a handmade gift to a friend or loved one shows that you made that little extra effort to find something truly special. If that's not enough - Etsy artisans will almost always work with you to create exactly what you desire. Finally, prices are competitive. I'm often surprised at how reasonably priced handmade, hand-crafted items can be.

The Christmas season is the perfect time to explore what Etsy shop owners have to offer - especially those shop owners who comprise BesTEAM! This year, give handmade.

With prices ranging from $10 to $20, Absolutely Kismet is a great example of a shop that offers beautiful handmade items for reasonable prices. Check out the whimsical, colorful wine charms and choker necklaces as well.

Bright Orange Shell Necklace, $20.

Purple Shell Bracelet, $20.

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Talk about a huge selection of one-of-a-kind, vintage and unusual items! Connie at Redemption Art has scoured the globe for cool stuff and put it all in one fantastic place. She has a great eye. Prices at Redemption Art range from $5 up to $200. Great deals on truly unique treasures.

Vintage Miniature Teapot, $7.

Vintage Advertising Poster, $125.

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Creative is the key word at Creativity Bugs - the perfect example of why buying handmade is the way to go. You'll find photo cubes, handbags, greeting cards and even soothing bath salts. And you won't find these items in a big box store. With prices ranging from $2.50 to $15, everything in the shop is a bargain.

Tealight Favor, $2.50

Wooden Calendar Cube, $15.

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Blackberry Confessions

2011-11-27T12:38:00.000-06:00

Up until the moment that the young woman scanned the package of blackberries she hadn't said a word to me, not even the standard, "Did you find everything you needed?" Looking down at the dark, indigo berries she said, "I used to love blackberries, but now I don't." Which invited the query: "Why is that?" "Because of all the seeds." Pause. "And because of my grandmother. The only time she wasn't evil was when we were picking blackberries together." I wasn't expecting quite that answer, but I murmured in what I hoped was a comforting way and said brightly, "Did your grandmother make anything with the blackberries?" "We ate some while we picked and then she'd make cobbler." Sounded decent enough to me and I said so, then I self-consciously fussed around tucking bags into the cart and being inordinately interested in the credit card scanner.

A woman about my age apologized as she slid into the window seat next to my aisle seat and as she stowed her purse under the seat she asked me if I was headed home or leaving home. She wore cowboy boots and lots of silver. When I asked where she was headed - just a routine, polite query - the floodgates opened. I learned that she'd recently been dumped by her boyfriend; she hadn't seen it coming at all, and tears began to fall as she spoke about it. He had apparently taken the coward's tried and true route: it's-not-you-it's-me. She could get no deeper explanation from him. Everything had been right about him except that in the four years they dated he'd never once picked up a tab or treated at dinner. He hadn't asked her to move into his house. To add to it all, her sister had died recently and suddenly of cancer.

I don't feel as if I have the kind of countenance and demeanor that invites the sharing of personal information by total strangers. But at the check-out line at the grocery, I hear a lot about weight problems and diets, lousy ex-boyfriends and rotten bosses or lazy co-workers. And on planes, when forearms and thighs are just a little too close to the person next to you, all kinds of personal stuff comes out. I guess there is safety in unburdening one's heart to a complete stranger. Or maybe there is a kind of comfort in reaching out, making a connection in a world that can feel cold and impersonal. Have I done it? Said too much to someone without even knowing or asking their name? Certainly not...And then it occurs to me: I'm a blogger.

Movies with Mom

2011-11-26T08:15:00.000-06:00

Though sometimes I didn't think so, I was lucky to be the youngest of four. Yes, I suffered the "slings and arrows" of teasing and having food stolen off of my plate by older siblings because I was "little," but I also benefited from the experiences of my siblings and from having built-in playmates and companions. Sharing a small bathroom was tough, but it taught me something about compromise and cleanliness. At least I think it did.

But being the youngest meant that eventually - as my siblings grew up and spent more time with friends or doing other activities - they needed my parents' attention less and less. I was there to soak it all up. One way that manifested itself was in movies.

Mayfield Road Theater, Little Italy, Cleveland, OH
Photo from cinematreasures.org

Usually it was me and both parents who headed out after dinner to see the latest films, but on nights that my dad was away traveling, mom and I would often plan something special. After a quick dinner out, we'd drive to one of the revival movie houses in Cleveland - the Cedar-Lee or perhaps the cinema at Case Western Reserve University. Mom picked the classics; movies that she had loved and remembered fondly.

Close on the heels of having finished the epic book, Gone With the Wind, we drove down to Cleveland, fortified ourselves with popcorn and candy and tucked into the worn magenta velvet seats at the Mayfield Theater in Little Italy to watch the four-hour film on the big screen. What a beautiful sight: the costumes and characters, the plantation houses, the raging fire in Atlanta - - and Vivien Leigh. She embodied Scarlett and I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I can still smell the buttery-popcorn aroma as mom and I walked around the lobby getting the kinks out during the intermission.

Then there was The Red Shoes. Another tortured romantic drama that didn't end so well. This was during the height of my Mikhail Baryshnikov obsession so a ballet-themed movie was perfectly suited to a moody, besotted teenager. I remember the vivid, garish colors of the film - and wondering why the doomed heroine didn't ditch her wafty, whining boyfriend and just happily dance herself to death with those magical red shoes!

One of mom's more interesting choices was La Strada, a Fellini film (which meant nothing to me at the time). I struggled a bit at first with the subtitles, but found myself completely drawn into the bizarre and tragic flavor of the film. It haunted me for days afterwards.

How would these films hold up today? GWTW remains one of the few movies that has aged well and also lives up to the complexity and flavor of the book. The Red Shoes and La Strada would probably not stand up to second viewings, but it doesn't matter. I don't need to see them again. What was and what remains priceless was having that one-on-one time with my mom, finding out a little something about her and imagining what she might have been like as a girl my age. Maybe she had been just like me.

BesTEAM Feature: Haiku Reviews

2011-11-22T07:10:00.000-06:00

Absolutely Kismet

warm sparkle wine fate/
beaded bauble wrap round wrist/
celebrations charms

Hemp Choker with Orange Beads.

Spider Wine Glass Charms, Set of 4.

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The Orange Windmill

orange titian rust/

thoughts writ hand-bound inside hide/

windmolen journals

Leather Journals in Orange; Set.

Slim Leather Journal.

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AngelsnEverlasting

shells sea-glass grapevine/
better nature angels wings/
comfort welcome home

Grapevine and Dried Flower Wreath.

Seashell Frame.

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KnitfulDezigns

back double knit cross/

soft as flower petals dew/

pom-pom playful; Grace

Green Newsboy Cap.

Robin's Nest with Eggs.

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Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-20T07:43:00.001-06:00

Other than posting my weekly BesTEAM Feature, Dough, Dirt & Dye is taking a brief sabbatical so I can spend time with family. But my vegan recipe blog, An Unrefined Vegan, will continue to publish delicious and healthy plant-based recipes during that time. The above is a sneak-peak at a scrumptious and easy vanilla creme pie (with a thin layer of dark chocolate sandwiched between the toasted-pecan crust and the custard; not to mention a chunk of pecan bark tucked into the top), the recipe for which will be appearing on An Unrefined Vegan within the next couple of days. Please check it out.

There's still plenty to read here on Triple D, however. You might enjoy my short short story, starring a Tilt-A-Whirl; details of a morning walk discovering Bones and Shells with my dog, Ike; or an early, earthy entry called Homemade Dirt.

Wishing everyone a happy and healthy Thanksgiving!

Some Thoughts About Dirt

2011-11-19T08:34:00.000-06:00

The other night the sky was clear and star-strewn, the moon waning but still nearly full and low and bright just above the dark line of trees. A streak of moonlight shifted and glittered along the surface of the pond and long, cool-colored shadows lay down past tree and fence and barn. A strong breeze blew from the south, balmy as a late spring day and with the same sense of expectancy and possibility. With it came the moist and cool smells of earth. The odor of the earth respiring. The same dirt furrowed by gophers, churned by cows' hooves and dug and turned with shovels by us humans to house and nourish our kale and turnips, tomatoes and sunflowers and bee balm.

We filled our lungs with the rich smell, displacing, we imagined, whatever bad and sour and unhealthy may formerly have been residing there. The incongruous smell of spring on the cusp of winter.

Grief Management

2011-11-18T07:13:00.001-06:00

I'm a planner. My workout clothes are set out the night before, as are everything we will need for breakfast in the morning. I plan out the week with long to-do lists and jot down notes on calendars. I typically start packing one or two weeks before leaving for a trip. Any spontaneous acts are carefully thought out prior to execution. This has worked pretty well for me and for the most part, I feel in control of most aspects of my life.

With one glaring exception. How does one plan - emotionally - for the death of a friend or loved one? Up until recently thoughts of this kind have not intruded upon the placid rhythm of my life. I've yet to have experience with the death of a close family member. But, the past year has been a rocky one for both my family and myself and for several of my dear friends. Two of my friends have recently lost parents. Kin and kind have been marred by serious illness. A member of my own family came alarmingly close to losing his life and the battle is not yet over.

Yes, there are things to do: understand the wishes of those close to us, write up wills or requests, get the Power of Attorney and Advanced Care Directive in order - and there is some kind of comfort in accomplishing these "administrative" tasks, if only because it takes ones mind off of the wrenching, emotional aspect of the passing of someone we hold dear.

If only there were a way to mitigate the crush of sorrow. Maybe, like taking a tiny sip of poison each day in the hopes of gaining immunity from its deadly effects, one could bear a small dose of grief everyday so that by the time the crisis comes, one isn't overwhelmed by the black and bleak weight of loss. If only that kind of planning were possible. I'm afraid even if it that small act was performed devotedly - taking that tiny, bitter dose every day - that it would never diminish the flood that comes after losing a loved one. It is proper, really. The heavier the sorrow, the deeper the love; the harder the loss, the sweeter the impact that loved one had on life.

Today's Dough: Pain de Campagne

2011-11-17T09:19:00.000-06:00

Country bread. Crisp crust, airy bubbles amidst the soft, almost-sourdough-flavored interior. Typically made with a portion of whole grain flour; my type of bread. Unfortunately, I couldn't buy bread like this in my town even if my life depended on it - so that means making my own.

This recipe comes from master baker, Peter Reinhart and takes some prior planning as it involves a pre-ferment and an overnight rest in the refrigerator. No big deal. The nice thing is, once you mix up the pre-ferment, you can leave it in the refrigerator for a few days until you have time to mess with it - and the flavor only gets better. I made a couple of baguettes and few large rolls with one batch, so a little work goes a long way - and the finished product freezes beautifully. Maybe not so unfortunate after all.

Pre-ferment, resting.

Thursdays Get Together: C'mon Down!

2011-11-16T13:20:00.000-06:00

Oklahoma and Texas are neighbors, but it would still be tough to visit with Theresa over at Chatter From Texas. Luckily for me she's hosting a blog "get-together" this week so we can visit virtually. And I'm helping out with co-hostessing duties. Sadly that doesn't entail having cupcakes, cookies and tea - but it's a fun time nevertheless.

You can visit with us virtually as well - just take a few minutes to visit her blog, meet other bloggers and before you go, leave a link to your blog so others can find you.

BesTEAM Feature: The Sea

2011-11-16T07:25:00.000-06:00

Primitive Ring Made with Mediterranean Sea Glass.

Sea Glass and Silver Bracelet.

Along with bracelets, bangles and rings, you'll also find unique earrings and necklaces with an ancient flavor. You can find RioRita here:

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Calling to mind the ebb and flow of the sea in its myriad of moods: calm indigo and azure; stormy gray and deep green. The shawls and scarves and accessories at Joy Light Hand-painted Silk are all hand-painted with fine French silk dye and are numbered and signed by the artist. For a demonstration of the process, visit this Joy Light video.

There are lots of ways to keep in touch with the latest from this shop:

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Finally, the glitter and sparkle of the moving sea under sunlight - or moonlight. These pieces from Poison Garden capture that evanescent light and movement. You'll find styles ranging from Gothic to Neo-Victorian to Steampunk to just plain fun and unique.

Neo-Victorian Cracked Glass Necklace.

Garden Fairy Crystal Suncatcher.

Find out more about the women behind Poison Garden here:

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Early Thanks

2011-11-15T07:23:00.000-06:00

Enjoying the scenery - and each others company - post run.

One year ago today, around 8 in the morning, my brother was wheeled into an operating room for brain surgery to remove a large, malignant tumor. My sister and I watched, filled with fear, apprehension, hope and love, as his team of surgeons pushed the cart, and him, away from us. The next several hours were spent in the waiting room, eyes wandering to the clock too often, thoughts never straying far from what was happening in the operating room. There were other families there, other crises, other fears and hopes - but we could've been all alone in the corner of that room.

This month has been full of painful memories, but as Thanksgiving approaches, I can't help but be filled with gratitude that my brother is alive for another year, another holiday. My heartfelt thanks to the skilled surgeon and his team, as well as the team of doctors and nurses who continue to care for my brother.

New Greeting Card: Teddy Bear

2011-11-14T07:39:00.000-06:00

I first started working on this teddy bear design back in April and lost the thread somewhere along the way. I put it aside and recently brought it back out, determined to finish it, so that I could include it with the cards I'm taking with me to Tulsa for a meeting with a boutique-owner. I wanted to have another baby- and child-themed card to show him.

Teddy bears get me to thinking about many things; my own childhood, especially. What child did not or does not have at least one cuddly bear for comfort? Truth be told I preferred my stuffed "Elly" - a large, soft gray elephant the perfect size and cushion for hugging - to bears. Elly is definitely worse for the wear, but I still have him. I do cherish one particular teddy bear, however. His name is, cleverly enough, Beary and originally he was my eldest brother's toy. The bear is nearly pristine which tells me my brother was never one for clinging to stuffed animals. It's about 10" high with tufted light brown fur, padded paws and he wears a rather worried expression on his face. I took Beary to college with me and he sat on my bed, guarding my dorm room.

You can find Teddy Bear and lots of other unique, hand-painted cards at my shop, Empty on the Inside.

Memory of Baked Goods Past

2011-11-13T07:28:00.000-06:00

Just around the corner to the entrance of Roger's Grocery store, past the cashiers and the customer service desk, were the big, shining glass cases that housed tall cakes covered in thick frosting, mounds of cookies and rugulach; deep, dark brownies, pecan rolls, crumbly coffee cakes and loaves of perfectly baked bread: Hough's Bakery. It was the first place one naturally pushed their cart and the first place my mom would stop during any trip to the market. It was both heaven and hell for a child with a raging sweet tooth.

Photo Courtesy of ClevelandHistorical.org

On a good day (and there were many), mom would order up two of Hough's sugar cookies and the woman behind the counter would reach into the case with a small piece of wax paper and place the cookies in the distinctive white bag with blue Hough's logo. The bag was a mere formality, for we tucked into the cookies immediately. They were about 5" in diameter and a half inch thick and sprinkled liberally with thick sugar crystals that fell off as you bit into the crunchy, buttery cookie. I could never make mine last long enough.

My favorite item by far, however, was the cinnamon coffee cake. I can still taste it: a dense, buttery cake layered with pillowy cinnamon-sugar nearly as thick as the cake itself. The corner pieces were coveted because they hosted more of the topping.

Then there was the white cake. My mom's and brother's favorite. Nothing fancy, just a beautiful snowy-white cake coated with white frosting. The flavor was subtle but it invited one to take bite after bite until one's plate was, sadly, empty.

Luckily for us kids, mom turned out top-notch chocolate chip cookies, chocolate cakes and brownies but her claim to fame (at least in the small world of our house) were her pies. I loved to watch (and "help") her mix and roll the dough - using Fluffo, a lemon-colored shortening that, though it contained no butter, imparted a buttery flavor to the crust. Mom would cut up the scraps, top them with cinnamon and sugar and bake them up for us kids. Every time she made a crust she would declare it a disaster, but the results were always tender and flaky. The perfect complement to cinnamon-y apples, or juicy raspberries or the traditional Thanksgiving Day pumpkin.

I didn't have to be at home to partake of delicious baked goods. My best friend's mom, Mrs. P made raspberry jam from berries picked from their own garden. The smells in the kitchen during preserving day were sweet, sticky, juicy-red summer. Mrs. P baked up something called Victorian sandwich and I asked for the recipe a few times, but never was able to get my hands on it. Between two layers of vanilla cake (baked in a 9"x13" pan) Mrs. P spread a generous slick of her raspberry jam. She served it to us along with a big glass of Ovaltine.

Mrs. P passed away a couple of years ago; mom doesn't bake much anymore and Hough's Bakery is no longer - but grateful Clevelanders can still get baked goods made from Hough's old recipes at a shop on Lakeshore Boulevard. And...I no longer indulge in baked goods made with butter, eggs or refined flours, but my memory is good enough that I can recall the tastes and textures of those childhood treats. I wouldn't trade in those memories for anything.

(Debbi at Our Home to Yours and Lynette at Sweet Posy Dreams got me thinking about cheesecake and chocolate and brownies and baked goods in general, so thanks to them for the inspiration for this post, though it's got my sweet tooth all abuzz. I enjoyed my flour-sugar-chocolate-butter journey down memory lane.)

The Small Town Myth

2011-11-12T08:42:00.000-06:00

I’m victim to a nostalgia of my own making, fueled most likely by untrustworthy childhood memories and nurtured by stories written by people with their own untrustworthy memories. It’s the town of porch swings and pies cooling on windowsills; of twilights filled with fireflies and hearing in the distance a woman call a child into the house followed a few seconds later by the squeak and slam of a screen door. It’s a town that each Fourth of July or Memorial Day adorns the street lamps with American flags; that has a Town Hall built of rough-hewn sandstone that sits solidly and silently guarding the grassy square and the white gazebo decked with giant baskets dripping with flowers. There’s an ice cream shop, a diner offering real “home-cooking,” a notions store and a post office that’s been there as long as anyone can remember.

I’ve driven through and past hundreds of these towns. As a family we spent a lot of time on the road and dad was prone to taking blue highways and back country roads that zigged erratically in every direction. The single main street (often called Main) that from vast fields of corn suddenly sprouted a neat row of houses and a wide sidewalk pushed tectonically here and there by the roots of the old maples and oaks that lined them. Old iron fences, painted black, decorative but unreliable guardians of neat lawns. The houses gave way to brick buildings, each with a block of sandstone at the top boasting the year they were built. In another block one is back to houses and after a half mile, deep into cornfields again.

I grew up in a small town, and although it has a town square with a gazebo, it isn’t an inviting place. Two of the four corners of its two main streets have gas stations on them. Fast food restaurants line the roads; there is no sidewalk anywhere. This is not to say there is nothing good about living in a small town – I prefer it to living in a large city – but does my impossible ideal exist?

After many years living in major metropolitan areas, I again live at the outskirts of a small town. To say it lacks charm is like saying the Hunchback of Notre Dame had a minor back problem. The main street has more boarded up buildings than functioning stores. Thebarber at the barbershop where I used to get my hair cut (he’s since gone outof business) would tell me stories of police corruption and drugtrafficking. As he told it, our town isas corrupt as the Chicago mayor’s office (pick your century). There is nothing for teenagers – or anyone else – to do; no movie theater, no video store, no bowling alley nor mall. The park is under-utilized. Work is scarce and if you’re looking for amenities or good restaurants, keep heading west until you hit Oklahoma City. One or two of the town’s buildings wear the charm of the distant past, but they’re marred by neglect, flaking murals or fire damage. Meth is a serious problem. Cold medicine was tempting enough to inspire a recent break-in at the local Walmart.

And yet my dream persists. I can’t imagine I will stop seeking in one way or another the idyllic small town. I’ll probably drive through many more that look like it during my lifetime. The perfect small town is the place just out of grasp, always somewhere else; in the next state or just down the road.

High and Tight

2011-11-11T07:42:00.000-06:00

It's never good to hear the person cutting your hair say, "Oh wow. That doesn't look right." Especially when the person cutting your hair is your life partner, your soul mate and the person with whom you spend nearly every waking and sleeping hour.

In what seems like a lifetime ago, I used to go every six weeks to a nice salon in Dupont Circle. I'd chat with my "regular" gal for an hour or so and then walk out the door with various products and about one hundred dollars lighter. Finding a replacement stylist near our rural home proved impossible - though I did go to a barber a few times. He did a decent job for $8, but I came out smelling like an ashtray and let's just say his chair-side manner was a little lacking.

So Kel was pressed into tonsorial duties. Not having any experience cutting hair stopped neither him nor me. How hard could it be anyway? And since I like my hair very short, it seemed like one couldn't go too far wrong. And he's consistently done a great job. The only problem has been - it takes too long. So this time around we decided to employ an electric razor with one of those comb attachments so that it really would be, you know, fool-proof. There's no doubt that the razor makes quick work even with my mop of curls, but the comb attachment was deceptive. Apparently it allowed more hair to be cut than either one of us anticipated, leaving me with less hair than prior haircuts. I don't think Kel wanted me to find a mirror after he was done.

But I didn't run screaming from the image that greeted me in the mirror. It's GI Jane, sure, and I can kind of see my scalp shining under there a little bit, but the shorter the better in the sense that there is no maintenance beyond washing it. No bedhead, no hathead. I will admit that when Kel first started up the razor and I could see thick tufts of hair falling to the ground, I did feel uncomfortably like a new recruit getting a high and tight for the first time.

(On Veterans Day and every day, I offer my sincerest thanks and gratitude to the men and women who wear and have worn a U.S. military uniform; those who make huge personal sacrifices every day, sometimes making the ultimate sacrifice to protect and serve. I am especially indebted to those who watched over me during my brief time in Iraq.)

New Greeting Card: Four Candy Canes

2011-11-10T07:31:00.001-06:00

Peppermint-flavored candies have never been my thing. I've always leaned towards the chocolate side of sweets and unless the mint was surrounded by a thick layer of the dark stuff, I left the candies in the bowl. On the other hand, mint and Noel kind of go hand-in-hand; candy canes are an icon of the holiday and it wouldn't have been Christmas morning without at least one candy cane tucked into my stocking.

You can find my new card, Four Candy Canes, at my Etsy shop, Empty on the Inside - along with lots of other cards for Christmas and all the other days and holidays of the year. And through November 14, all of my cards are 10% off.

Today's Dough: 100% Whole Wheat No-Knead

2011-11-09T08:32:00.001-06:00

Before

Another ridiculously easy and healthy bread from the no-knead bread book, Healthy Bread in Five Minutes a Day, by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoe Francois.

I veganized and further "unrefined" this by replacing the vegetable oil with unsweetened applesauce, used soy milk instead of dairy milk and replaced the honey with agave nectar. It bakes up with a hint of sweetness; moist and tender on the inside with a crunchy, crispy crust.

If you'd like to give this a try, you can find and follow the recipe at my vegan recipe site, An Unrefined Vegan.

After

Ghost-proof

2011-11-08T08:25:00.000-06:00

Over the years it has become clear to me that the deceased have nothing to say to me. Not that I've especially courted encounters with the supernatural. There have been the 12 or maybe 15 visits to the Lilydale Assembly near Cassadaga, NY: the strolls through the Pet Cemetery and over to the Forest Temple and Inspiration Stump; the slow browse through the Fox family artifacts and automatic writing samples at the museum, and then, of course, joining the also-curious and the solace-seeking at one of the daily spiritualist meetings. I've been to many of these sessions and time after time as I sit waiting, eager and open for a message from beyond to come to me, I am passed over again and again. Even as friends and family members are called by spirits - Kel was once chosen twice in one meeting to receive messages from his father - I am warmed not even by the smallest flicker from the spiritualists. It is as if to the spirit world, I do not exist.

Looking back maybe I've always had a certain immunity. As a child I played the "Bloody Mary" game in the darkened school bathroom, but instead of having my eyes torn from my head or seeing the terrible visage of Mary herself in the mirror, the only reflection was that of my own face distorted in the dim light.

I've stayed in creaky and old hotels and certainly (as Stephen King knows) if there are haunted places, hotels must be writhing with roving spirits. I even read The Shining while alone in a hotel room and felt nary a tremor of the gauzy filament that separates the living from the dead. I wasn't reading the book to provoke, it was simply that that was what I was reading at the time. Maybe I was safe because I was not staying in Room 217...

My own childhood home must have housed at least one ghost. It was a century home and a woman died in her bed during a fire, approximately where my sister and I shared a bedroom. Yet any footsteps, moans, cries or poltergeisting went unregistered to my senses. I slept like a log most nights. True, I have entered buildings and rooms that seemed heavy with something vaguely sinister or menacing - and the urge to be somewhere else and quickly was strong - but beyond that, I have gone unmolested by restless beings through these 45 years.

The closest I came, and maybe it explains why I am ghost-proof, was during a game played with my siblings and cousins in the basement of their house. I don't know how many of us were in the closed, darkened room - maybe 10, maybe more. One of my cousins lay prone on the ground with six others of us kneeling around him. Each person had two fingers of each hand lightly pressed under and along the perimeter of his body and we all chanted: "stiff as a board, light as a feather" over and over again. My job was to turn on the light and open the door in case things went, well, in case things went as they were expected.

For a while our chanting went unheeded. A soft, gray light filtered in from a small window near the ceiling and in the dim light our eyes and thoughts were all focused on my cousin. And then a strange thing happened. The body of my cousin rose slightly - and in the gloom of that basement room with all of us watching, the collective realization hit us. We had somehow raised his body not with the paltry power of children's fingertips, but by some other force for which we had no name or explanation. That's when we all screamed. My cousin's body dropped with a thud to the floor. The light did not get turned on, but you can be sure I was first out the door.

From that day, perhaps, with that brief glimpse into the cold unknown and of power unharnessed, I closed myself off from the possibilities, from the grasping reach of entities from other times and other planes.